Without My Hat
by Niente Zero
Summary: Fraser is accused of a crime that he didn't commit. Ray Vecchio is determined to prove his innocence. Their investigation will lead them into international intrigue and danger. Will a suddenly hatless Fraser prevail? Will Ray save the day?
1. Under Arrest

**Disclaimer - They aren't mine, or I'd be exploiting them for profit, not fun**

**Chapter 1- Under Arrest**

The ringing of the telephone roused Ray Vecchio from an entirely blissful night of sleep. He answered half-awake, and wholly resentful. Everyone at the Chicago PD's 27th precinct knew about the big bust that had gone down the night before, and they should have known he'd been up staking the place out the last two nights. Which meant calling him on business was just not right. And yet, that was Detective Jack Huey's deep-toned voice on the other end of the line.

"Vecchio, you're going to want to get your ass down here. I just made an arrest you'll be interested in."

"What?" Ray grumbled. "We wrapped up the Simonelli case yesterday, or did you forget?"

"No, Vecchio, it's got nothing to do with last night's bust. It's the Mountie."

"What, Benny made an arrest? He can't do that here-"

"No." Huey's voice sounded tight and strained. "I just arrested the Mountie. Theft. Pretty serious. And he won't let us call him a lawyer, because he says he's innocent. That's why I called you. Are you coming, or not?"

"What!?" Ray's voice echoed down a closed circuit. Huey had already hung up, and Ray wasted no more time, getting dressed rapidly, cursing under his breath in his familiar tongue. Fraser committing a theft was inconceivable. In the short time that Ray had known him, he'd already learned to appreciate and be frustrated by the Mountie's impeccable sense of ethics. There had to be some kind of mistake, and obviously he, Ray, had to get to the bottom of it soon.

"Where is he?" At nearly two AM, the bullpen was all but deserted. Jack Huey and his partner Louis Gardino, were perched at Huey's desk, talking quietly. Gardino looked up.

"Holding cell." he said. "We already questioned him, but I don't think he'll mind talking to you."

"What's he supposed to have stolen?" Ray demanded sharply.

"Some kind of microdisc." Huey said.

Louis corrected him. "MiniDisc."

"Whatever." Huey said. "Fraser was at some fancy dinner party as a representative of Canada. There was a Canadian inventor there, who apparently felt the need to carry her latest big invention on one of these microdiscs in her handbag. Some time after dinner, she discovered the disc was gone. The uniforms were called in, and us, and a search turned it up duct taped to the inside of Fraser's hat."

Huey put his hands on his desk and leaned over in a placatory gesture. "Look, I didn't want to arrest him, but the evidence was against him. There was the disc in his hat, and he'd been out of sight of the rest of the company during the time the crime might have taken place. He didn't have much to say in his defense, said he was out talking to Diefenbaker." He glanced over to where Fraser's half-wolf lay looking moody under Ray's desk. "The wolf was there. I thought it'd be best to bring him back here before animal control decided to get in on things. But there's no way to prove that's what Fraser was doing while the theft went down. I didn't have a choice."

Ray grunted. "But you know he didn't do it." he said, evenly, trying to keep his temper.

"I don't think he's a criminal, but the evidence points to him, that's all. I had to arrest him."

Ray opened his mouth, ready to let fly with some hurtful words.

Gardino interrupted, his voice hot and angry. "You think we liked having to bring him in, Vecchio? Yeah, we know Fraser's a good guy, too, you're not the only one who can see that. But don't get on Jack's case for doing his damn job." His finger jabbed toward Vecchio. "We don't like this any more than you do, but you know how the system works."

Gardino's voice dropped to something more reasonable as he concluded. "We've been wasting time waiting for you to get here so we could tell you what was going on as soon as possible. We have two more witness statements to take. You go talk to Fraser."

Ray turned to leave. "That's just what I'm going to do."

The holding cells were darkened, and Ray flipped a switch illuminating them. He saw his partner seated on the low bunk in the cell nearest the door. He was sitting in an upright posture, in full dress uniform minus the iconic stetson and the belt, with booted feet, although the laces had been removed, planted firmly on the floor, and quite asleep. Ray felt bad about having to wake him. Fraser had been on the stakeouts with him the last three nights. Fraser had spent his _leisure_ time on the stakeouts, just because he enjoyed spending time with Ray. Oh, and that universal drive for justice thing he had going on. He deserved to be at home, even if it was a cruddy apartment in a bad neighborhood, asleep in his bed. Anyone who knew anything about Benny knew he didn't deserve to be behind bars. The man stood foursquare for truth, justice and yeah, the Canadian way of life.

"Benny." Ray said softly, turning the key to the door of the holding cell. "Wake up. We gotta talk."

Fraser's eyes snapped open and he jerked to his feet, standing at attention as he woke up.

"Relax, Benny, it's just me. Come on, we'll go to an interview room, I'll get you some coffee, you can tell me what's going on." Ray said. His voice was carefully modulated. If he felt angry or irritated at his partner for getting into the mess he was in, he was keeping that under wraps for the moment. It hadn't been too long since Fraser got himself stabbed in the leg by a notorious killer, and Ray's protective instincts were still flaring. Besides which, he knew that given a half hour with the most irritating man on the planet, he'd need all the control he could muster.

Settling Fraser in to the interview room, Ray said, "Now, you got mirandized right? You know that still applies, even if it's just us, right?"

Fraser nodded. "Of course, Ray. But since I did not commit the crime, I'm hardly concerned about saying anything that might incriminate me."

"Of course you didn't." Ray said. He pushed a cup of bad coffee from the break room across the table to Fraser and sipped from his own. "So tell me."

Fraser looked at the coffee with distaste, then yawned. "Excuse me." he said. Oh dear. It looked as if he would have to resort to the bitter sludge that seemed to be the lifeblood of the station. He sipped with a wrinkled nose, and then began talking.

"Well, Inspector Moffat, my superior at the Consulate asked me to attend a function tonight as a representative of Canada, a dinner party at a private residence. Since it was such a nice night out, I decided to walk. Diefenbaker needed the exercise, so extracting a promise of good behavior from him, I allowed him to come with me. We arrived at the dinner party punctually at eight p.m.. Attending were-"

Ray put his hand up - "I don't need an exact guest list right now. Just give me the outline."

"Ah. Right you are, Ray. Well, the party was being held in honor of an eminent Canadian inventor, Doctor Michaela Gaffin. She's been at the forefront of some major advances in biopolymers in the last few years."

Ray looked blank, so Fraser elaborated.

"Plastics, Ray. Plastics made from plant materials."

"Huh." Ray said. "You Canadians get excited about the weirdest things."

"Not just the Canadians. She's in the United States to talk to various potential investors. Tonight's dinner party included representatives of rather important firms that might take an interest in her work. There were guests present from this country, China, and the United Arab Emirates."

Ray whistled softly. "That sounds like the big time, all right." he said. "So you walked- your leg must be better."

"Much, thank you. Just a little stiff now." Fraser said.

"And then? After you arrived? What happened at the party?"

"It was a semi-formal occasion. I arrived in time for a cocktail hour, and then dinner was served at eight. Although you don't wish to hear the entire guest list," Fraser raised an eyebrow, "I should note that it was a small group, and aside from Dr. Gaffin, there was only one other woman present, a senior representative of a Chinese company."

Ray said something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'sausage party' to Fraser.

"Why, no, actually. The main course was filet mignon, served with a demi glace, julienned carrots and parsnips, a vegetable which is unfortunately underrepresented in American cuisine, and an artichoke heart and sun dried tomato salad with aged balsamic vinegar."

Ray snorted. "Right. Moving along. Anyone say or do something unusual at the dinner table? Anyone you like as a suspect?" He ran his hand over his thinning hair, and sat back in his chair, waiting for Fraser to reveal anything useful that would help clear up the case quickly.

Fraser cast his mind back to dinner. After being cornered by the gentleman from the United Arab Emirates over cocktails, of which Fraser was decidedly not partaking, to discuss the differences in natural gas management policies between their two countries, Fraser was quite relieved to be seated next to the striking Zhang Xiaoxu, from China, on one side, and Henry Breckinridge, one of the American investors on the other.

The host of the evening, Dr. Thomas Raine, who had worked in the past with Dr. Gaffin, introduced Xiaoxu to Henry and Fraser, and as she shook hands with each of them, Xiaoxu insisted that they call her 'Sue', as it was easier for most Westerners to pronounce.

"From your accent, I would guess that you are from the South of China, perhaps near Hong Kong?" Fraser ventured in careful Cantonese, and won a curving smile for his efforts.

"Yes, Guandong province. In that case, call me Xu, by all means. Your Cantonese is excellent, where did you learn?" Xiaoxu replied in Cantonese.

Fraser noted silver grey among the dark hair swept up into a bun on her head, and slight lines around her eyes, but she seemed remarkably youthful considering that she was, according to his briefing, the only ten years younger than Dr. Gaffin, who wore her white hair loose, and showed no vanity about the marks of passing years on her face. Xiaoxu had a quietly appealing elegance to her, from her simple soft leather boots under dark, fine wool crepe pants, to the jacket tailored of what Fraser could tell was an expensive silk brocade.

The first course of chilled watercress soup passed pleasantly as Fraser told Xiaoxu about his grandparents and their experiences in China. They spoke English out of courtesy to the other guests at the table. Fraser felt almost light hearted at the quick connection he'd made with the intelligent woman. Normally he would be uncomfortable with the way she leaned in close to punctuate her stories with a silvery laugh meant only for him, but the tell-tale heat in her eyes was tempered by a restraint that he appreciated, and she seemed to be interested in talking to him for himself, not because the uniform was eye-catching or he in some way conformed to a standard of attractiveness that he didn't understand at all.

Things turned to a less pleasant note over the filet mignon. Henry turned from his conversation with Dr. Raine, to ask in an arch tone, "Now, Constable Fraser, am I to understand that you walked here tonight?"

"That's right. It was a pleasant stroll." Fraser affirmed.

Dr. Raine looked on with amusement as Henry continued the line of questioning. "Was it a long walk?" Henry asked. "Which part of Chicago do you call home, by the way?"

"I don't call Chicago home." Fraser said. "But I have an apartment quite close to the Consulate, over on West Racine."

He thought that the slightly personal line of conversation would end there, but Henry was like a dog with a bone. His tone of voice was casual, even laughing, inviting others at the table to laugh with him.

"That's really not the best neighborhood, is it?" Henry drawled. "Dr. Gaffin, doesn't Canada pay enough to keep its representatives abroad out of the slums?"

"My dear Henry," Dr. Gaffin said, "You should have heard me complain enough about the Government's parsimony toward the sciences, but I've no doubt they have money to burn on our diplomatic liaisons."

Fraser felt his cheeks burn red at Henry's remark and Dr. Gaffin's odd sideswipe, and hated that his blush of anger at Henry's rudeness would be interpreted as embarrassment at where he lived.

"I choose to live there because of the convenient walk to the Consulate." he said, wincing internally at the defensive note in his voice.

"Oh, do you not own a car?" This came from a man who had been introduced to Fraser as Jack Elton, the rival American investor to Henry.

"I thought driving a car was mandatory in America." Xiaoxu said. "It is refreshing to find someone who is not so beholden - is my English correct? Yes? Beholden to American capitalist ways."

"It will be a long time before Detroit gives up its grip on the American heart." Gaffin said grimly. "Yes, the number of cars driven by single occupants on a daily commute - it's absurd. I imagine the collectivism at the heart of Chinese socialism creates quite a different paradigm."

Thankfully, this turned the attention away from Fraser and into a heated but friendly discussion about just how much China could still claim to be pure of capitalism, given the current shift toward a free enterprise economy and the existence of Special Economic Zones, the result of which was the freedom of corporations like Xiaoxu's to make the sort of deal she was seeking with Dr. Gaffin.

As the conversation hovered too close to the actual business that would be conducted ruthlessly over the next week while Dr. Gaffin was in Chicago, Dr. Raine steered it onto a discussion of the cuisine of the Guandong province, where Xiaoxu's company was headquartered.

"Don't they say that in Guandong, they will eat anything that walks, crawls, or flies?" Dr. Raine said. "You must tell me, does our American cuisine strike you as bland in comparison?"

This relatively safe note of conversation got them through to dessert. After dessert, Dr. Gaffin and Xiaoxu excused themselves to the ladies room, and Fraser excused himself to step outside for a breath of fresh air, and to see how Diefenbaker was faring. Then all the guests moved into a small sitting room for coffee and liqueur, and Fraser wondered how soon he could leave. It was already quite late.

It was when the party began to break up that Dr. Gaffin exclaimed in distress.

"Someone's been in my handbag! It's gone, it's gone. Call the police. All my data are gone!"

Ray interrupted. "So that's when the uniforms showed up, and Huey and Louis running along behind them."

"Essentially, yes. I reinforced Dr. Gaffin's statement that no-one should leave, and Dr. Raine called the local constabulary. I was quite surprised to find that his home fell within the boundaries of the 27th district, but apparently it was right on the boundary, so, as you say, Detectives Huey and Gardino arrived."

"Then what?" Ray said. "Anyone acting funny?"

"Well, no one was pleased to be staying. But everyone agreed to be searched. I volunteered to be searched first, in order to set an example. Sheikh Hamad bin Saqr al Nuaimi was reluctant to allow the search of his person, but agreed when no-one else protested."

"Shake who?"

"The gentleman from the United Arab Emirates. Sheikh Hamad -"

Ray cut him off with an impatient hand gesture.

"So the uniforms searched you. And that's when..."

"That's when the stolen property, which was a minidisc containing specifications and data relating to Dr. Gaffin's latest discoveries, and which she had, against all common sense, been carrying in her capacious pocketbook, was found."

"In your hat."

"Yes, Ray. In my hat."

"And you have no idea how it got there."

"None, Ray. I didn't have my hat with me during dinner, but Dr. Gaffin remembered that I had arrived with it, and insisted that it be gathered from the coat closet and included in the search, which showed remarkable instincts."

"So then Huey arrests you."

"Well." Fraser said. "Before that, Dr. Raine brought up the previous conversation about my living quarters and lack of car as evidence pointing toward a motive. Detective Huey seemed reluctant to arrest me, but under the circumstances-"

"So you just came along quietly." Ray got to his feet, pacing.

"Yes, Ray." Fraser said calmly.

"What did you do that for? That makes you look guilty as hell. Why didn't you tell Huey you were innocent? Why didn't you at least make some kind of fuss?"

"Detective Huey had a compelling reason to arrest me and bring me in for questioning. And since I know I am innocent, and I know that I have the combined intelligence of the 27th district's detectives working to solve this case, I was unconcerned."

"_Unconcerned_?" Ray leaned over the table, his eyes burning into Fraser. "You really think that's how things work here? You didn't even call a lawyer! You've been in Chicago long enough not to be that stupid! If you don't put up a better defense than you have, you'll end up in the big house. Prison."

"But Ray," Fraser said, jaw set stubbornly, as if his point was completely reasonable. "I have no reason to be concerned with you on the case. I'm certain you will prove my innocence."

Ray slumped back in his chair. He hadn't had enough sleep. He certainly hadn't had enough coffee. There were no words. Of course he was going to prove his surprisingly acquired new Canadian partner's innocence. Because if they put Fraser in front of a jury with the evidence as it stood, the jury'd see some poor schmuck who had no money for a decent place to live, or a car, and god but it would kill Benny if the prosecution dug, they'd see a guy whose father was never totally cleared of an implication of receiving bribes. And with Benny having so little to say for himself, they'd lock him away. Of course Ray was going to prove Fraser's innocence - who else would? But- how?

**Author's Note: Just to clarify for those unfamiliar with Chinese names, the family name is traditionally presented first, the given name second. So, Dr. Zhang Xiaoxu's given name is Xiaoxu. Chinese people doing business in America often adopt American names to make life easier, which is why she suggests the other guests call her Sue. Of course, Fraser can be trusted to pronounce her name correctly, because duh, he's Fraser.**


	2. Frame

**Chapter 2 - Frame**

Ray took ten precious minutes to get more coffee and get his head on straight. He wasn't interrogating Fraser as a suspect, because as far as he was concerned, Fraser said he didn't do it, he didn't do it. But still, middle of the night and pissed off as hell or not, Ray needed to think like a cop, like a detective, not like a worried mother hen who had a chick too stupid to come in out of the rain. By the time he got back into the interview room and sat across from Fraser, he was, at least outwardly, dispassionate and cool again.

"So let's go from what they've got. They have the disc thing from your hat, and otherwise it's circumstantial, this guy Raine talking about your financial affairs."

"That sums it up, yes, Ray." Fraser said calmly. "Now, as is normal procedure," he held up one hand to show the traces of ink on the fingertips, "I was fingerprinted when I was booked in. Which is redundant, since as a foreign national working in the United States, there is already a set of my fingerprints on record, but nonetheless convenient. I don't think Detectives Huey and Gardino have had a chance to check with the forensic team, but naturally, as I did not touch the disc, we should at least be able to show that it does not bear my fingerprints."

Ray nodded. "That's something, at least. That and it wasn't like you had duct tape hidden on you."

"No. I find that although it's a tremendously useful substance to have at hand, the bulkiness of the tape roll doesn't sit well with the lines of the uniform."

Ray spent a moment looking at Fraser as though he had two heads, then shook his head and went on.

"Okay, so we check with forensics, see what they turned up on prints. What does this disc thing look like, anyway?"

"It was just a plain, small, circular object. Like a smaller diameter version of a musical compact disc, but with no particular markings."

Ray and Fraser's eyes met as they both had the same idea.

"So," Ray said,

"We don't even know-" Fraser looked mildly excited

"If it's the same disc!" they both concluded.

Fraser and Ray shot to their feet, and then Fraser sat back down, for the first time looking mildly glum.

"I suppose I had better not -"

Ray peered at him a second. "Oh. Oh, right." How easy it had been to forget that his partner was a suspect, was _the_ suspect.

"Don't worry, Benny. You just hold tight here, I'll go see forensics, then see what we have to do to dig up a computer expert.

Fraser's mouth tightened. It shouldn't take an expert to look at the disc, but Ray was being uncharacteristically careful. For his benefit, of course.

"Are you sure you shouldn't put me back in holding?" It would be the correct process.

Ray shot a look at him. "Are you going to take off on me? Does that seem likely? No. Just hold tight. I'll take care of it."

After this instinctive reaction, Ray looked more closely at his tired partner.

"Unless you want to go back, catch some sleep. I know it's not the most comfortable accommodation." But, unsaid, no need for both of them to miss another night's sleep, and since Fraser couldn't help with the investigation...

Fraser rubbed his eyes. "No, Ray, thank you, but I'd really rather not." Better awake and somewhat alert in the interview room than asleep in a cage.

Ray strode with purpose through the building, soon finding himself in an office off a small lab. A carrotty haired young man looked up from the computer on his desk.

"Vecchio." he said, and then yawned. "Listen, we heard about the Mountie." He sounded sympathetic. Fraser's Stetson sat in an evidence bag on the desk beside him.

Ray pointed at the hat. "The disc that was in there. You dusted it?"

"Yup. No prints. Well, obviously the side that had been duct taped didn't have any, but neither did the side closest to the hat. And the idiots at the scene ripped off the duct tape."

"The responding officers?" Ray looked scandalized.

"Nope, um, one of the civilians. Apparently took it right out of the uniform's hands and just went at it on account of wanting to be clear it was the minidisc taped in there. We had to take his prints, and that's all that was left on the duct tape. Moron."

Ray scowled his displeasure. "Which one?"

The forensic technician tapped at his keyboard for a few seconds then looked at his screen.

"Breckinridge." he said.

Ray thought back to his interview with Fraser. That was one of the American investors.

"Okay, but none of Constable Fraser's prints are on anything, righ?"

"Right."

"Listen, Joe..." Ray leaned on the desk and tried to smile winningly. "I know it's late and all, but do we have a computer expert who can take a look at what's on that disc? I kind of want to establish it's even the same disc before Fraser gets sent down the river over it."

The technician perked up. "Oh, sorry Vecchio, we hadn't got that far, but you bet."

He dug out a small, black address book from the pile of paperwork on the desk and started flipping through it.

"Did you know Constable Fraser organized for a bunch of his buddies back home to send postcards to my little girl when she was in the hospital last month?" the technician said, as he picked up the handset of the phone.

Ray hadn't known that. He hadn't really known the technician had a daughter, let alone that she'd been sick, but it was just the sort of thing Fraser would do.

The technician dialed, then waited a while for the party on the other end to pick up.

"Hey, Shaz. Yeah, I know what time it is. Could use you down at the station... someone's trying to railroad our favourite guy in red. Yes, seriously, yes, Fraser, seriously. Glad you're awake now." his tone was fondly sarcastic. "Got some computer evidence for you to look at, okay? Got a minidisc reader? Right. See you soon."

He looked up at Ray as he hung up. "She'll be down here soon. She's the best."

Ray felt a weird stab of warmth at the way his colleagues were rallying for Benny. The Canadian had a way of getting under people's skin that Ray couldn't consciously explain. From day one of meeting him, he'd been pulled to help Fraser. There was something about his assumption that Ray would help that warmed up a small, cold place inside Ray. No one trusted quite like Benny did.

"Why don't I go get us all some decent coffee while we wait?" he found himself saying. There was a donut shop nearby, cliched, but open all hours, and the hot, syrupy sweet creamy concoction they served as coffee was head and shoulders above the strange brew at the station.

The technician's eyes lit up as he stretched sleepily. "Oh, man, yeah, that'd be the best, Vecchio."

Maybe the Mountie was rubbing off on him, Ray thought, with a rueful shake of his head as he headed out into the cold night on his hunting mission.

Half an hour later, Ray and the redheaded technician were hovering behind a fizzy, petite woman with pink dyed hair, apparently the 'Shaz' whom the technician had phoned, as she worked at a computer.

"Lucky for you I had a reader at home. Mostly these things are used for music, and take a specific player. Sony has proprietary formats for everything." she rolled her eyes in disgust.

Ray made a hmming sound, unclear of what he was agreeing with, really. If the language wasn't obscure enough, she had a thick English accent from a region he couldn't recognize.

"So anyway, once I reboot, the computer should detect the reader. I loaded the drivers already, so as long as everything plays nice together we're good to go."

Ray hmm'd again. Shaz looked up at him.

"You have no bloody idea what I just said, do you?" she asked, with a grin.

"Not really, all I know is you're going to look at the disc for us and help me prove Fraser didn't steal anything."

"Basically."

The computer came back to life with a chime, and Shaz turned her attention to it. She popped the disc into the reader and navigated to it in the file system.

"Well now." she said, arching a brow. "Unless Canada considers the work of folk-rock artist Sarah MacLachlan dizzying intellectual property, this is probably not the disc you're looking for."

Ray heard the technician behind him mumble "These are not the droids you're looking for," and Shaz snickered. Forensics guys. Weird. Even the girls.

"That's... so... " he scratched his head. "It's not the right disc, so it's got to be a frame up."

"Also? Your mad scientist apparently doesn't believe in labeling her CD collection. So you're looking for someone who knew what they were looking for. If you know what I mean."

Ray did. It was confusing, but a definite clue. Whoever actually stole the disc and framed Fraser had to have acted with some amount of planning. And yet, it did seem likely that both the missing minidisc and the one that Shaz was now examining the contents of minutely, belonged to Dr. Gaffin. Because if it was a planned frame job, why not just buy a blank minidisc?

"So you can put music on these things as well as data?" Ray said, trying to sort things out in his own head.

"Oh, yeah." Shaz said. "Honestly, they're mostly used for music, so you can have your little portable whatsit to listen on, like a WalkMan but smaller. I suppose that's why this victim thought it was a clever idea to carry her data around on one. Sort of hidden in plain sight, thing."

Ray nodded. That made a surprising amount of sense. Well, it was about time something in this case did.

Ray headed back to find Fraser and let him know that there was really no case against him. Then, he figured, he could talk to Huey and get him to release Fraser. There was no way Huey would insist on pushing through to an arraignment given this new evidence.

As Ray approached the interview room in which he'd left Fraser, he heard a loud, strident voice. Louise. Louise St. Laurent. State's Attorney St. Laurent, to be precise. And boy, did she sound mad.

"...in light of which, Constable, I am at a loss to understand why you haven't availed yourself of your right to an attorney. The evidence against you is damning, and Dr. Gaffin has given us quite enough information to treat this crime as a Class One felony. The patents on the data on the disc you stole have been valued at a total of more than a half a million dollars. You should be taking this seriously, because we are talking about serious prison time!"

Ray's mouth was dry as he walked into the interview room. Even knowing that the evidence against Fraser was a lot flimsier than St. Laurent thought, the possibility of his friend and partner being tried for a crime that carried the potential of a life sentence was terrifying. More than just casting doubt on his guilt, Ray needed to find the perpetrator of the theft and the frame up, and clear Fraser once and for all.

"St. Laurent." Ray drew the State's Attorney's attention away from Fraser, who looked rigid and impassive under her tirade.

"What is it Vecchio? Like I don't have anywhere better to be at four in the morning. Don't make me waste any more of my time. If you want to help your friend, tell him to get a lawyer and we can talk pleas."

"Yeah, that's not what I had in mind." Ray said, an unkind smirk dancing over his lips. "I hate to tell you this. No, wait. I love to tell you this. You don't have what you think you have on Constable Fraser here. It's a frame up."

St. Laurent scowled.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"The disc they found in his hat." Ray rolled his eyes. "Lucky for us, forensics went ahead and took a peek at it. That's not the disc that Gaffin said was missing. And I say 'lucky', because if you screwed up and charged Fraser with a Class One felony, he could take us for so much money the state'd be holding bake sales just to keep the roads paved. Wrongful arrest, harrassment. Where do you want to start?"

Fraser opened his mouth to protest that he would never sue the Chicago PD, but Ray turned his laser anger on him for just a split second, and Fraser realized it would be sensible to keep his mouth shut at this juncture.

St. Laurent wilted visibly. "What the hell? They drag me down here, tell me it's all cut and dried, and no-one even checked it was the right disc?"

She grabbed Ray's elbow and steered him out of the room. Fraser leaned his head on his arms. He knew Ray would help prove his innocence, but he was rapidly approaching a level of tired where he'd plead guilty if they'd just let him go to bed.

**Author's Note: Sorry, sorry... might be slower to update than I usually am. Of course, everything's written, but Chapter 4 is demanding extensive overhaul, and it's NaNoWriMo month so I'm off chasing novels in my sleep. Anyway, I'll try to keep it coming at a steady pace... can't let Fraser languish in durance vile for too long, eh? Thanks for reading and thanks for the feedback! It's always appreciated.**


	3. Frying PanFire Paradigms

**Disclaimer: Not mine. More's the pity. I treat 'em right.  
**

**Chapter 3 - Frying Pan/Fire Paradigms**

Fraser overheard every single word of Ray's conversation with Louise St. Laurent, even through the closed door of the interview room. The fiery redheaded woman was still on a tear as she spoke to Ray.

"I'm really not comfortable releasing Constable Fraser until we have another suspect in custody." she said after listening to Ray's account of the evidence so far. "We don't know that he didn't steal the wrong disc by mistake, for one thing. Detective, we still have over 65 hours before we need to either charge the man or release him. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't keep him in custody."

Ray rubbed his face. He was too tired to mince words. Sure, St. Laurent was kind of hot when she was all fired up like this. He'd always had a soft spot for a woman who could get angry with the best of them. But this was Benny she was messing with.

"St. Laurent, you know full well we have basically nothing here. On top of that, we got a guy who has a completely spotless track record, and we got a good chance of pissing off our friends to the North by hanging onto him when he's innocent."

St. Laurent weighed her options. If the man was innocent then the Canadians probably would put up a fuss later about his treatment. On the other hand if he was guilty and ran, they'd complain about that. But in spite of her general distrust of Vecchio, and her dislike for being woken in the middle of the night, she had to admit that her gut feeling was that he was right about the Mountie. The vague motive just didn't add up, and the whole thing stank like three day old fish. Very well, time to put the fear of god into the Mountie one more time, then cut him loose.

"Fine." she said, and she was back in the interview room before Ray had a chance to react.

Any other time, any other suspect, Ray would have admired the way she leaned over the table and managed to menace in spite of her small stature.

"All right, Constable Fraser, you're going to be released. Detective Huey will process the paperwork. But I want to make myself entirely clear to you. You remain a suspect in this case. I do not want to hear that you have been interfering in the investigation. I do not want to hear that you have made any attempt to leave the state. In fact, until this case is concluded, I'd advise you to be exactly where we can find you at any time. We don't have the evidence to press charges against you at this minute, but this investigation is far from over, and if you do anything to jeopardise its progress, I will have you back in here for obstruction of justice so fast it makes your head spin. Do you understand me?"

Fraser nodded tiredly. "Yes, Ma'am." He understood. He was being released, but that didn't mean his name had been cleared, and he wasn't supposed to do anything about clearing it.

St. Laurent left as quickly as she'd entered.

Ray shook his head and shrugged.

"Don't worry about her, Benny. The important thing is you're free to go, and we'll find whoever framed you."

Fraser stood up and smiled tiredly. "I hope so. I believe so. I wish I could help."

Ray rolled his eyes. "You will. Just because she says stay out doesn't mean we're not going to pick your brain to figure this one out."

"My brain seems to have decamped back to the Northwest Territories." Fraser said. He reflexively looked around for his hat before remembering that it was in the hands of the forensics staff, or already stashed in an evidence locker.

"Yeah, let's get you home." Ray said. "You look done in."

They strolled back to the squad room and found Huey typing on a form.

"St. Laurent see you?" Ray asked.

Huey stood up. "Yes, she did. Listen, Fraser, you know I didn't want to arrest you." His deep voice sounded troubled.

"You did the right thing." Fraser said reassuringly, with a particularly genuine smile. "Although I am glad to be released."

"I'm just getting everything in order, then we'll get your effects back and you can go." Huey said, sitting down to finish his typing.

Huey sighed and pulled the paper out of the typewriter. "Sign here, and initial here." he said, handing it to Fraser. "You know, I'm glad you're off the hook, but this puts us back at square one, and we don't really have any other leads."

Ray smirked. "I think we do. Not much, but I have a feeling about one of Benny's fellow dinner guests."

Fraser's eyebrows went up. Ray was really serious about clearing his name. Ray had listened to what he said and found a clue. He wondered if Ray's suspicions pointed in the same direction his did.

"Do you still have Breckinridge down here?" Ray asked.

Fraser nodded unconsciously. Good. Yes.

Huey shook his head. "No, we got done with the interviews a half hour ago and sent everyone home, or back to their hotels in his case. What makes you suspect him?"

Fraser said, "He seemed to maneuvre to make me appear in the most suspicious light, quite early in the dinner party."

Ray added, "And he was the one who contaminated the evidence at the scene. No one seemed to think it was deliberate, but in ripping off the duct tape that held the minidisc to Fraser's hat, he obscured any chance that we'd be able to get prints from it."

Fraser's forehead wrinkled. "I know it's not much, but it's all we've got. The attempt to frame me seems to have been quite haphazard, and I assume was not so much a personal attack as misdirection. I think that we should talk to Mr. Breckinridge as soon as possible.

Then he blushed. "Or, rather. You should. Obviously, I can't."

Ray shook his head slowly and smiled.

"And you shouldn't, anyway, Benny. Between the stakeouts and tonight, you're dead on your feet."

Fraser pouted stubbornly. Sometimes Ray seemed to treat him like a child. "Ray, I assure you, I'm really not that tired." Even as he said it, he noticed the whine in his voice.

Ray snorted, his mouth contorting with ill-concealed laughter. "What are you, six? You sound like Maria's kids when they're up past their bedtime. C'mon. No more arguments. Jack, you got Breckinridge?"

Huey nodded. "Yeah, Ray. We have the hotel he's staying at, the downtown Hilton. I'll go over and see him myself. Fraser, I'm sorry about arresting you, you know, just go take it easy."

Fraser walked over to Ray's desk and crouched beside it. Diefenbaker opened one eye and looked at him lazily.

"Are you coming?" Fraser said clearly, making sure the wolf could see his lips.

Dief whined slightly and shifted, making himself more comfortable. He opened the other eye and lifted his head to give Fraser a distinctly baleful glare.

"Well, I wasn't neglecting you on purpose, it's not as if they allow wolves into holding cells."

Diefenbaker gave a grumbling noise and settled his head back on his paws, closing his eyes.

Ray smiled tiredly at Fraser. "He'll be fine here. His loss if he won't go home."

"I suppose so." Fraser said. Arguing with the deaf wolf was counterproductive, and the station was warm and safe, and even after such a short time in Chicago, the wolf seemed to be a favorite among the officers of the 27th. He wouldn't go hungry or be stuck without someone willing to take him outside.

"We'll talk tomorrow. Or later today, rather." Fraser said firmly to Diefenbaker, and then shook his head at the futility of attempting to communicate with the wolf once he'd rolled over and played fast asleep.

Fraser sank into the passenger seat of the Riviera gratefully. He'd been given back his belt and boot laces, and he was relacing the boots as Ray drove, but of course, the Stetson was still evidence. Still, he'd worry about that tomorrow.

As Ray pointed the big green battleship of a car toward Fraser's neighborhood, a sudden though occured to Fraser, the flash of an image from earlier in the night.

"Ray, Detective Huey said the Hilton, in central Chicago, didn't he?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's just that, well, earlier tonight, I recalled-" Fraser rubbed his temple. He was very tired, but he felt a rush of adrenaline stirring through him, bringing him back to alertness.

"When Breckingridge was talking to Dr. Gaffin over coffee, she wanted to show him a diagram. Breckinridge took out a notepad, hotel stationery, from his jacket pocket."

Ray stopped at a red light, and turned to stare at Fraser. "Not from the Hilton, huh?" he said. Damn it, like they needed a complication.

"No, Ray. A Four Seasons in Oak Lawn."

The light turned green. Ray performed an illegal U-turn, and pulled his phone out. He dialled Huey's cell-phone number, but there was no answer. Ray left a message to the effect that they thought Breckinridge was at a different hotel, and it was really Huey's job to investigate, but given that he wasn't answering the phone, Ray was going to drive on out to Oak Lawn right now and Huey should call him back when he got the message.

Huey, having struck out at the Hilton, had in fact decided to call it a night, and presuming that Ray and Fraser were safely on their way to bed, had not bothered to call and let them know. He didn't get the call because he was in the shower, on the way to an uninterrupted four hours sleep, without an intervening stop to check his cell phone's voicemail service.

Arriving at the hotel, Fraser described Breckinridge to the sleepy night clerk, and suggested that he could only have arrived back a half hour or so before they arrived. The night clerk shrugged, scratched his head, and told him what room the man fitting that description was in. He seemed in no hurry to take them there, so Ray just walked on to the elevators.

"Come on, Benny."

"I can't come in to the room, you know. State's Attorney St. Laurent was quite clear-"

"You can wait outside then. If he is the guy who stole the disc and framed you, I don't want to give him time to get away." Ray rejoined.

Fraser shrugged. "Very well."

Arriving at Breckinridge's room, Ray knocked, waited, then showed his badge when Breckinridge opened the door a crack. Breckinridge let Ray in. Fraser stayed out of sight of the door. That was fine and good until he heard the ominous words "Get your hands where I can see them, Detective," in Breckinridge's voice.

Fraser stalked forward, waiting for the crucial moment to burst in and disarm Breckinridge. Between him and Ray they should have no problem.

"I can hear you out there. You had better come in, Constable." Fraser was startled by a second voice from within the room. It was not Breckinridge's. It was female, light, pleasant. Dr. Zhang. Evidently the theft was the work of more than one of his dinner companions.

Fraser entered the room to find Breckinridge holding Ray at gunpoint.

"This is an unpleasant complication." Zhang Xiaoxu said. She still sounded urbane and collected, as if she were discussing sending back a corked bottle of wine at a restaurant. "It's lovely to see you again, Constable, but I would wish for better circumstances. If you don't want your friend shot, you'll do exactly as I say."

Fraser met Ray's eyes. Breckinbridge's hand was steady, and he was holding Ray by one arm. The gun had a silencer, and Fraser felt that Breckinridge _would_ use it if he had to.

"Yeah, sucks, Benny." Ray grumbled, acknowledging the look shared between them. No easy way out.

"Don't be foolish." Fraser said. "You don't want to kill a police officer."

Breckinridge laughed, an unsteady sound. He didn't seem as calm with the situation as Xiaoxu was. "We don't want to kill him, not if we don't have to." he said. "We're not stupid. Just do as you're told and he doesn't get hurt."

Xiaoxu said, "Your reputation precedes you, Constable. We know if we kill him, you won't rest until you've achieved vengeance. And everyone knows if we kill a Mountie, your government will hunt us to the ends of the earth. That would be inconvenient. So you see, it would be our preference that you both live. I think that would be your preference too. All you have to do is obey. We're leaving tonight, and we're taking your friend as insurance that you won't follow us. If you do as you're told, he'll be released safely. Otherwise...."

Her voice was knife-sharp. Still calm and urbane, but with a lethal edge of cold amusement. Fraser licked his lips. Ray's life was in balance. He was sure that the two thieves were telling the truth, they'd rather not have to kill anyone. But he was equally certain that if it was necessary, Xiaoxu would have no problem with finishing off either of them. He shifted his weight minutely on his feet, looking for an opportunity to break the stand-off and get Ray out of danger.

"Stand still!" Xiaoxu's command was like the crack of a whip. She knelt in front of Fraser, running her hands down the inside of his legs. Even though he knew she was only searching him, Fraser's face turned a blazing crimson at the unneccesarily sensual way her hands moved.

"Get your hands off him." Ray barked.

"Shut up." Breckinridge said. "Shut up. Don't talk unless you _want_ me to have to shoot you, then your partner."

Xiaoxu found the knife sheathed on the inside calf of Fraser's leg and removed it, holster and all, setting it away from him on the floor.

"Naughty." she murmured, then stood up and repeated the process on his torso. She found the empty holster and her lips twitched with wry laughter.

"All right, now lie down on your back, on the bed." she ordered briskly.

Fraser hesitated.

"Do it, or I'll shoot him." Breckinridge snapped. He was getting more and more anxious the longer Fraser was unrestrained. His partner in crime had briefed him about what she'd found out about the Mountie and none of it was reassuring. That was why they'd had to set him up in the first place, and yet here he was, large as life and twice as dangerous.

Fraser reluctantly lay flat on the hotel room bed.

"Arms over your head." Xiaoxu said. She pushed up a leg of her loosely cut crepe pants, and Fraser saw, to his surprise, that she had a wide roll of duct tape pushed up her slim, shapely leg like a garter. She slid it down, along with some plastic cable ties that had been secured under it.

"I always believe in being prepared, don't you, Constable?" she said. Another time, Fraser might have been amused. At least it answered the question of who had the duct tape that had been used to tape the minidisc to his hat.

With the plastic cable ties, Xiaoxu tied Fraser's hands tightly to the slatted headboard of the bed. He tested the bonds and found the rigid plastic bit into the skin of his wrists at the smallest move.

"Open wide." Xiaoxu ordered. She pulled Fraser's handkerchief from his uniform pocket and stuffed it into his mouth, gagging him. Then she wrapped duct tape over his mouth, running it all the way under the back of his head and around again. It was totally secure. Apparently she wasn't taking any chances of him raising an alarm.

"There. You look quite good enough to eat. Don't you remember what Dr. Raine said about we Guandongese?" She smirked, a hungry glint in her eyes, and let her hands roam Fraser's chest.

Fraser looked up steadily at Xiaoxu. How had he so entirely misjudged her? She presented a very good front, a civilized veneer. But with the veneer ripped away, she was feral and predatory. She made the bold advances that women in Chicago had made on him seem demure and maidenly.

Bound as he was, he couldn't do anything about the uncomfortably intimate touch of her hands as she ran them over his tunic.

"It's a shame that we're in a hurry." she said, with a gleaming smile. "You were such a charming dinner companion, I've no doubt you'd be equally pleasant in other arenas."

Her hands moved to his belt.

Ray saw the infinitesimal change in Fraser's bearing. A tiny flicker of anger appeared in Fraser's eyes, and then he stilled himself deliberately. Ray felt a raw fury, just as if he'd been watching some creep paw at one of his sisters. Not that Benny was in any way less than a man, but he was a private man, not given to free demonstrations of affection, less still this sort of invasive touch, and this was against his will. Ray growled, and Breckinridge pressed the barrel of the gun more firmly into his temple.

Xiaoxu saw the change in Fraser's bearing too. She gave a satisfied laugh that made a mockery of her friendliness over dinner. "Oh yes, I could have made this so good for you."

She unbuckled the belt. Ray said, "Stop!" urgently, since there was no way for Fraser to show his objection.

Xiaoxu turned a look of warm amusement on Ray. "Don't worry. I just want this."

She pulled the belt loose and held it up as a trophy. "It's very good leather, and I should like to have something to remember the handsome Constable by."

Slinging the belt over her shoulder, Xiaoxu picked up the duct tape again. "That, and our intelligence report suggests that Constable Fraser is a man of infinite resource and sagacity. No point in missing anything that might help him come after us."

With that, she pulled out another length of duct tape, and to Ray's horror, wrapped it once more around Fraser's head. This piece covered his nose, and she pressed it down over his nostrils. Fraser's eyes widened involuntarily as his source of air was cut off.

"No, you'll kill him." Ray struggled with Breckinridge, earning a tap over the back of the head with the gun. He sagged in Breckinridge's arms.

"Oh, I don't think so." Xiaoxu said, even though a third of her audience was now unconscious. She looked into Fraser's eyes. "I'm sure you'll find a way to breathe." She leaned down and brushed her lips greedily against his forehead. Xiaoxu stopped to pick up Fraser's knife, another souvenir, he supposed, before sashaying out of the room behind Breckinridge, who was headed to the fire exit, supporting Ray as if he were a drunk friend. Fraser kept his face impassive, but he knew that Xiaoxu had seen how he had reacted to her unwanted touch, and she had been excited by it.

As mortifying as that was, it didn't matter, couldn't matter right now. What mattered was getting his friend out of the hands of the thieves and bringing them to justice. Fraser strained his senses to listen to catch anything the two thieves said as they made their way to the exit.

"... hurry... airport... Tri-State ... no traffic..." That was Breckinridge's anxious voice.

In spite of his extraordinary lung capacity, Fraser needed to breathe, soon. The way his arms were pulled up tight behind his head was not helping. He would have to stop listening and work the duct tape loose. His concentration grew ragged and he couldn't make sense of the last words he heard from Xiaoxu before Ray's abductors left the building. "...better class of CSIS..."

**Author's Note: Eesh. I am so snowed under right now. I know I'm usually more reliable than this but I hope you're enjoying the story even with the long delays. (A bear walks into a bar and sits down. He says to the bartender, "I'll have a... ... ... ... ...whiskey, please." The bartender says, "Sure, but why the big pause?" (Yes, that one works better out loud.)) As ever thanks to my lovely and gracious readers and reviewers and those against whose foreheads I bounce ideas.**


	4. Dial 'Ow' for Operator

**Disclaimer: I forget. But I certainly don't own them. Mounties want to be free.**

**Chapter 4 - Dial 'Ow' for Operator**

Ray was not at all pleased to find himself marched toward an indistinct silver sedan in the hotel's parking lot, nor to find Zhang Xiaoxu's personal touch directed at him. He guessed that to anyone watching, the way she pressed him against the car looked indecent, rather than an opportunity for her to take his jacket off and apply cable ties around his wrists.

"Get in the car." she ordered, backing up from him enough to open the back door. Mindful of the gun in Breckinridge's hand, Ray did as he was told. He slid into the back seat, and Xiaoxu draped his jacket so it concealed the way that his hands were bound in front of him.

Ray's head ached. Not only had Breckinridge thwapped him handily when he protested Fraser's mistreatment, but the sleepless nights were beginning to catch up with him. He wasn't even attempting to conceal the scowl of fury on his face. Not only had these people framed Benny and then tied him up and left him for dead (not that Ray was too concerned; they hadn't specifically wanted Benny dead and they seemed to be aware of his preternatural ability to escape even the most daunting of bad situations) but they had been the root cause of Ray getting out of bed at some time in the morning that ought not to even exist, _and_ if he was going to be anything more than useless baggage it probably meant he was about to do something Mountie-level stupid, and ruin his suit into the bargain.

The jacket over his hands turned out to be a blessing. It was easy for Ray to slump his head against the door and close his eyes and let the two in the front of the car think he was out for the count. Then it was not easy, but certainly possible, to grope his hands over slowly, unnoticeably, so that he was ready to unlock and open the door when the car slowed down.

That there was a steep drop off at the edge of the road and the car was still moving was what made this definitely more one of Benny's moves, Ray thought to himself wryly in the split second it took between opening the door and jumping.

Zhang was driving. She pulled the car to a halt with a squeal of brakes and rubber on the road. Breckinridge climbed out and ran around to look down into the gully where Ray had fallen. He had the gun out when Zhang held her hand up.

"Don't be stupid. Traffic's light, but someone could see us, and that would slow us down. It isn't as if Detective Vecchio will be following us. Let's just go, quickly."

Ray lay stunned for a few minutes after the car pulled away, then wrenched himself to his knees. Something was wrong with his left arm, and it was telling him so in no uncertain terms. And then there were the grazes. Neither he nor his suit would be at their full gorgeousness for some time to come. Not that he cared. Not now. He had a job to do.

If Benny hadn't already got himself free enough to breathe then there was no point going back to the hotel to rescue him. Ray blinked once, slowly and deliberately, and shook his head, trying to clear it of the last image he'd had of Fraser. Assuming Benny had taken care of the duct-tape issue, then he was no longer in specific need of rescuing, and Ray was certain that he would much prefer Ray to go forth and get his man, and, in this case woman. Stopping them would clear Fraser's name entirely and prevent them from leaving the country with the stolen MiniDisc.

They'd telegraphed where they were headed. Now all he had to do was climb back up to the road, and find someone willing to pick up a zombie Italian detective with a massive case of road rash, and get him on the road again.

The urgent need to breathe stirred an almost primal fear in Fraser, which he pushed down immediately, with stern discipline. This was the worst time to begin panicking. He'd held off to listen so that when he did get free he could find Ray, find Ray and stop the two thieves. He'd held his breath and kept his heart from pounding in his ears, and he would not lose all the advantage he'd gained to an autonomic reaction. Deliberately stilling himself, Fraser cleared his mind and refocused his concentration.

Then, with little grace, but much vigor, Fraser turned his head and started scraping the duct tape that was over his nose against the shoulder of his uniform tunic.

After three turns of his head against his shoulder, twisting his neck sharply, a corner of the tape caught, and it lifted. Fraser felt the slightest amount of air trickling in. He turned his head again and began to shake with frustration and lack of oxygen when this movement smoothed the duct tape back into its previous position. But it was loosened now, and he kept working at it until he had enough air to survive. He dared not press his luck any further, as each time he pulled his head back before rubbing it on his shoulder, the tape threatened to resettle and block his air again. What he was getting, meager though it was, would have to do.

Air taken care of, Fraser twisted in his bonds. He could see a touchtone telephone on the bed side table. Of course it was infuriatingly far from his reach given that his arms were pulled tight above his head. He tugged at his bonds and was rewarded with only a sharp, dark, burning pain, the plastic of the cable ties cutting deeply. Given time, Fraser thought he might work the frame of the bed loose and free himself that way, although not without damage to his wrists. Anyway, he didn't have time. Not if he was to find Ray. And it was his fault Ray was in danger, and on top of that, he had a nagging suspicion that there was more to this case than it seemed at first, something that meant he absolutely must stop the thieves escaping with the MiniDisc.

With a stifled sigh, Fraser twisted his hips. With some effort, and a renewed burning and slicing against his wrists that made him cry out sharply into the handkerchief in his mouth, Fraser swung his legs over to knock the phone onto the floor. He swung himself over even further so that he was half off the bed, on his belly, supported by one leg, the wrists strained and bloody against the translucent white of the ties. He couldn't maneuver well enough to see the phone, but assuming it had fallen face up, he shouldn't need to _see_ it. The keys of the phone were the large, flat rectangular kind, each around three quarters of an inch across, which was the first piece of good luck he'd had all night.

Fraser fumbled out with the foot that wasn't supporting him. The toe of his boot caught against the phone. Closing his eye, Fraser concentrated. This would be easier barefoot. If only Xiaoxu had lusted after his boots instead of his belt. But he must do what he could with what he had. And what he could do was to find and depress the switch hook until he heard a dial tone, then gingerly snake his toe across to where the '9' must be. The universal layout of the keypad and the fact that the '9' and the '1' were on the outside of the square of buttons made this possible, even if Fraser had his doubts that he could manage the contortions required.

Fraser let his toe slide across until he was almost sure it was over the '9', then pressed down. He heard the sound of two keys being pressed. From the tones of the beeps, Fraser could tell he'd hit the '9' and the '6' above it. He closed his eyes, breathed as deeply as he could, and swung his foot over to press the switch hook again, getting a fresh dial tone.

The next attempt, his toe caught the pound key. Fraser bit back a futile sigh before trying again.

This time, his foot traveled even more gingerly. He tried to angle just the tip of his toe down, until he heard the beep of the '9' being dialled. He exhaled slowly into the handkerchief in his mouth, and moved his foot again, the toe sliding backwards and across. He hoped he was visualizing the distances between the buttons on the phone right. He toed down and heard the beep of the '1' key. But then the dial tone cut off into a series of beeps indicating that he'd taken too long to dial the number. He had to start over.

Several more attempts proved equally futile, either because he was too slow or too inaccurate. It was just this side of impossible to negotiate the small keypad with the blunt and useless tip of his boot. How frustrating it was, compared to the simple tasks of wrestling a polar bear or outrunning a bull musk ox in rut. This was definitely outside his scope of experience.

Fraser was shaking from the effort, ignoring the pain in his wrists and the warm blood trickling down inside his uniform. He felt like he was trapped in a weird nightmare. He remembered anxious nights of dreaming that he couldn't figure out how to dial a phone or get the keys in the ignition of a snowmobile, or that he was trying to speak and no one could understand him. He hung limply, trying to push up with the leg that he hadn't been dialing with, thinking about alternate strategies. But there was nothing, there was no way to break loose or make enough noise to attract attention.

He had to do this, had to get this right, so that he could get help on the way to finding Ray. The strain wracked his body with shivers. He mustn't panic. He couldn't do this if he panicked, couldn't manage the ghost glide of his foot to find _just_ the very edge of the buttons he needed and avoid mashing all the others. He had to tamp down the rising anxiety that throbbed through his chest with every hard fought breath. They could _kill_ Ray. They'd said they wouldn't, but Dr. Zhang was ruthless. She'd left Fraser in a position where he had to fight to live. He _had_ to get help for Ray. He had to do this right. A memory flashed in his head, the utterly inexplicable vision of Ray at the door of his father's cabin, wrapped in bandages. For the man who had left his hospital bed and crossed two countries to help a virtual stranger, Fraser was prepared to do just about anything.

Fraser made one more try, desperately seeking the balance between careful, slow patience, and speed enough to dial the three digits before the phone cut off. The buzzing in his head was not making it easy to concentrate, focus on the three inch square area that he had to negotiate with his booted foot. Again, down on the switch hook. This time, he swung more quickly over to the '9' and was rewarded with a single beep as he depressed it. Then just as quickly back across the keypad, hoping against hope that he judged the distance right and could nudge down with his foot accurately enough just to hit the button he wanted. '1'. He heard the beep of the number. And again, '1'. At last he had done it. He couldn't talk to the dispatcher, but leaving the line open would let them trace it, and help would come.

Fraser slumped, his knees not reaching the floor. He pushed himself up more on his feet, being careful not to step on the phone, then twisted his wrists again, feeling the sear of hard plastic cutting into soft skin, as he rolled back onto his back and lifted his legs onto the bed. That took some pressure off his wrists, enough that he could let his head fall back and close his eyes, making the least movement to make the most of the tiny trickle of air that was coming in under the dislodged duct tape. His shallow breathing was labored. Fraser allowed himself a thread of hope that help would come soon, not just for Ray's sake, but for his own.

---

The 911 call that had come in to the Oak Lawn dispatch with nothing but silence on the caller's end was traced to a hotel room at the Four Seasons. Officer Tyrena Axley had only been out of the academy for three months, and she still had a tingle of anxiety when she and her partner on patrol, Bernard Wujcik, responded to the weird calls. Could be it was nothing, someone accidentally dialing, or a kid knocking the phone off the hook. Or there could be guys with guns. It had been drilled into Axley's head at the academy about how too many good officers were killed every year on routine traffic stops or 911 calls because they weren't careful enough.

So when there was no response to her knock on the hotel room door, and her call of "Chicago PD, open up", after the hotel manager slid the key in to unlock the door, Axley nodded at Wujcik and he kicked the door open. She burst through with her gun held in front of her and turned to cover one half of the room while Wujcik came in after her and covered the other. There was no immediately visible threat, just a man tied to the bed.

"Jesus Christ." The hotel manager, standing behind Axley and peering into the room swore. "Is he dead?"

Wujcik poked into the bathroom with his gun and came back out, holstering it.

"Clear." he said.

Axley holstered her gun and moved to check the figure on the bed. His face was practically covered with duct tape. She felt for a pulse, and when she found one, turned to Wujcik. The older cop was letting her take the lead more often these days. She knew he was looking to get out soon. But he was also the kind of man who felt a responsibility to train rookies up right.

"I think he needs a medic." Axley said. "I'm going to take this tape off."

"Got it." Wujcik said. There was an ambulance waiting outside since the nature of the call had been unknown. Wujcik spoke into his radio as Axley leaned over the man in the bed. Some kind of doorman, or something? He had clear blue eyes that looked up at her with relief.

"I'm going to take this duct tape off now, sir." Axley said. "It's probably going to hurt."

Fraser nodded minutely. He was more than ready to take a deep breath. His lungs burned for a solid gasp of air. He'd tried to make a noise when he heard the competent young officer standing in front of him now knock on the door and announce the police presence, but he'd achieved nothing more than tiring himself further.

Axley lifted Fraser's head to find the ends of the tape wrapped around it and ripped. Fraser felt hair being pulled out, and then the burn of the tape being pulled off his skin. But then he could breathe through his nose, and he did, inhaling deeply while Axley bagged that piece of duct tape. She repeated the routine with the piece over his mouth, then quickly put on a pair of latex gloves before removing his saliva soaked handkerchief from his mouth and bagging that.

"Thank you." Fraser said. His mouth felt dry and odd, and he coughed to try and clear it. His lungs still burned, but they were welcoming the return of a steady flow of air.

"I'm going to have the medic cut your wrists free, okay, sir?" Axley said. She'd looked at his wrists briefly, but the broken skin was swollen and angry around the plastic ties, and she'd rather leave it to a medical professional. "And then I'll need to ask you a few questions."

Fraser appreciated her brisk professionalism. Although she seemed wide-eyed at the strange scene in the hotel room, she was taking it in her stride.

"Thank you, kindly." he managed. "But before anything else - I have to report a kidnapping." For once, he didn't even waste his time or breath on introducing himself. Formalities could wait until Ray was safe.

Wujcik stepped over beside the bed. "Who's been kidnapped?" he demanded brusquely.

"Detective Raymond Vecchio, 27th District." Fraser said.

Axley looked shocked and Wujcik looked cold and angry.

"You'd better not be screwing around or holding back any details. You saying a cop's been grabbed?" Wujcik demanded.

"Yes." Fraser said. "He was taken from this room. The kidnappers were a Henry Breckinridge, and a Doctor Zhang Xiaoxu. I believe they intended to take him to an airport nearby."

Wujcik maneuvered between Fraser and Axley. Axley had already learned that while Wujcik had a lazy streak, anyone who fucked with cops was high on Wujcik's list of people worth bothering with.

"Call that in, Ty." Wujcik said over his shoulder, as he leaned down over Fraser. "You had better not be withholding any information or yanking my chain or in any way doing anything to put a cop in danger." The look in his eyes showed he was deadly serious.

**Author's Note: As ever, thanks for your patience! I hope you are enjoying our fun-filled descent from a simple dinner party to a heck of a night for poor Benton. The worst is yet to come. Muahahah. Cough.**


	5. Canadian Intelligence is Not an Oxymoron

**Disclaimer: If I owned them, there would be a lot more sweat lodges.**

**Chapter 5 - Canadian Intelligence is not an Oxymoron**

Finding someone willing to pick up a messed-up looking hitchhiker in the small hours of the morning was proving more difficult than Ray had anticipated. Now that the rosy blush of adrenaline and endorphins had worn off, he was feeling shocky and weak, and his resolve to get out there and get his man (and woman) on Fraser's account was wavering in the face of his body's resolve to find the nearest hospital and demand a blind taste test between percocet and vicodin.

It was cold. And dark. Sure there were lights along the highway's edge, but it wasn't anything like day time, and he wasn't Fraser, it wasn't as if he could just -well- do some grown up boy scout thing and make his night vision superior or haul a flashlight out of the depths of his clothing. Ray had to watch his steps carefully, and he found himself walking along to a cadence of "Stupid. Moron. Idiot." which was frankly directed at himself at the moment he'd decided to throw himself personally into finding Fraser's father's killers. Or the moment he'd booked it out of a hospital and flown North to save Fraser's ass. You saved a Mountie's life, and it turned out you paid, and paid, and paid.

Still, focusing on one damn foot after another (Ray stumbled and righted himself, hissing with pain as his arm jarred against the barrier at the edge of the road) focusing on not falling again and messing up his suit any more than it already was, beat the mental exercise of not worrying about Benny. No, of course Ray wasn't worried. Mad, maybe. But still not worried. Benny was either all right, or he wasn't. One foot in front of another. "Moron. Idiot. Stupid."

---

The medics arrived and Wujcik moved out of the way to let them at Fraser, though he still looked unhappy with the situation.

"All right, sir, I'm going to cut away this tie now."

Fraser found himself looking up into yet another face. Why these people wanted to stand around and explain everything first before getting on with it was beyond him. The older police officer, the one who had been angry, seemed to be the only one who saw the urgency of finding Ray.

"Yes, yes. Just hurry." Fraser said, then immediately regretted his impatience. "I mean, that would be fine, thank you."

It wasn't really fine. The medic pushing surgical scissors between the tight plastic and his swollen flesh hurt badly enough. But the blood rushing in to Fraser's wrists where the circulation had been impaired was a rush of white hot agony that made him bite back a cry and arch off the bed. The medics gently grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him sit upright slowly, holding him until the worst of the dizziness passed.

Unfortunately, looking dizzy got Fraser more medical attention than he felt was strictly necessary. Between the medics asking him questions as they cleaned his wrists and bound them with gauze, and the two officers, who by now had introduced themselves as Wujcik and Axley, playing good cop/bad cop on him, Fraser's frustration was building to critical levels.

"No, that really won't be necessary-" Fraser was trying to dissuade the medics against taking him into the hospital for observation when a rumpled, sleepy looking Jack Huey burst through the door.

"Ah, Detective Huey." Fraser sat up straighter on the bed.

"Fraser." Huey said. "Louis is waiting downstairs. If you think you might know where Vecchio is, let's go."

Officer Wujcik stepped between Huey and Fraser.

"Just a minute." he said. "This guy isn't going anywhere until he's done answering questions. And who do you think you are barging in here like that?"

Huey looked annoyed and flashed his badge. "Detective Jack Huey. 27th. You know, like Vecchio. Are you going to be done with Constable Fraser soon?"

Wujcik's eyes bulged. He didn't like Huey's peremptory tone, and he considered stalling.

Huey clenched his fist loosely, then relaxed his hand. The brief respite of sleep that he'd got after not finding Breckinridge where he was supposed to be staying had been too short to be truly refreshing, and he could feel his temper fraying. Vecchio might be an ass most of the time, but that made no difference when he was missing.

Wujcik saw enough in Huey's controlled glare to decide that hanging on to Fraser for questioning wasn't worth the trouble.

"Whatever. Just make sure he comes by the station to give us a statement in the morning." Wujcik conceded. "The hell, getting himself tied to a bed, I don't need freaky crap like this."

Huey breathed out and smiled, turning on just enough charm to smooth things over with Wujcik. "Well, you know, he's Canadian. It's not like he can help it."

The medics gave up their efforts with slightly better grace, and Fraser promised that if he felt faint or dizzy he'd find his way to a hospital, although in the back of his mind he knew rather well that he'd be a lot fainter and dizzier than they thought counted before he voluntarily turned himself in to the futility of an ER waiting room.

"You all right there, Fraser?" Huey asked quietly in the elevator on the way down to the car. Fraser hadn't even looked at the stairs, and Huey, being a detective, had noticed that he wasn't usually one to take the easy way down. He must be beat.

Fraser nodded. "Quite well, thank you. I will be even better once we have located Detective Vecchio."

He spoke calmly and evenly, but, again with the detecting, Huey could hear the tiny underlying tremor. After all, Vecchio had somehow managed to get himself blown up working Fraser's Dad's case. And now he and the Mountie were some kind of partners, just like Huey and Louis, and Huey knew that if anything happened to Louis, he'd be even more of a mess than Fraser was right now, but for the uptight Mountie, a tremor was quite something.

Huey patted Fraser's arm briefly. "Don't worry." he said, "We'll find him. You just tell us where we start looking."

Huey slid into the back seat of the car, letting Fraser ride shotgun. Gardino turned expectantly toward the Mountie.

"You know where they're headed?" he asked.

"I think so. I caught some fragments of conversation. I know that they mentioned taking the tri-state tollway. Do you have a map book?"

Gardino leaned over and popped the glove box.

"Help yourself." he said, starting the car and rolling out of the hotel's parking garage, flashing his badge at the attendant at the exit. "I'll get us on the tri-state."

Fraser paged through the book until he found what he thought he was looking for.

"Hmm." he said.

"What?" Huey said.

"I think- I can't be sure- there's a small airport in Lansing. I know they were going to an airport. I think that's our best option."

Gardino leaned over and looked at the map. "Got it. I'll let you know when I need more directions."

Fraser let his head fall back against the headrest. Ray. Ray had already done so much for him, and he'd got him dragged into yet another mess. If... no, when... they found Ray, then Fraser felt, with a certain strange self-knowledge, that he would relax back into the usual security, the faith of knowing that this was worth the risk, that what they did mattered enough to put their lives on the line for it. Until they found Ray- it didn't. None of it mattered a damn compared to Ray's safety. And Ray wasn't safe as long as that woman had him.

The sky was beginning to lighten to a softer shade of indigo at the horizon when Gardino's headlights picked up a figure moving slowly on the shoulder of the road.

"Stop!" Fraser leaned forward against the dash.

Ray put his thumb out, and turned it into a rude gesture as the last in a long line of cars passed without stopping. Then he stumbled, surprised, as the brake lights on the car came on and it pulled over in front of him. Almost before the car had come to a halt, the front passenger door opened. A flash of red surging toward him arrested Ray's attention. Oh, thank god.

"Ray! You're safe! You got away!" Fraser said. He was up in Ray's personal space, but not doing anything unseemly like hugging, or anything. Ray corrected that quickly, giving Fraser a one armed, manly hug with a pat on the back of the shoulders.

Fraser noted the incompleteness of the hug and looked at Ray's other arm. A thin line creased his forehead. "Ray, you're hurt."

"Busted my arm up, Benny. Jumping out of moving cars is stupid."

Gardino and Huey were out of the car now, too, and Ray turned to them.

"You guys are here to whisk me away to the hospital and the good drugs, right?" he said.

"Vecchio, you just want an excuse to flirt with the nurses." Gardino teased.

Fraser wasn't saying anything as they got back in the car, Huey taking shotgun this time. Fraser's lips were pressed together slightly, as if he were desperately holding back from saying something.

"What is it, Benny? You hurt?" Ray asked. He was still basking in the pleasure of not having to take one more plodding step. Whining about the mess Fraser got him in could wait until he was in a less magnanimous mood.

"No, Ray, I'm fine." Fraser said. He didn't look particularly fine to Ray.

"Spill it, Benny. What's the problem?"

"There's no problem. If we could just radio in to dispatch and let them know that the miscreants might be at the airport. I think-" he stopped short.

"What? What do you think?" Ray said, as Gardino picked up the radio and made a brief report of Fraser's suspicions.

"Nothing, Ray." Fraser smiled tightly. "Let's just get you to the hospital."

"You're driving me crazy here." Ray said. "Obviously something's the matter."

Huey turned around. "You might as well talk, Fraser, or he'll just make us all miserable."

"It's just - I think- something that Dr. Zhang said as you were leaving. Something about the CSIS. I think they thought I was Canadian intelligence."

Gardino murmured under his breath about oxymorons and Huey's lips twitched.

"So, what? She thought you were a spook, so what about it?" Ray asked.

"I think that means that whatever is on the disc that they stole is more than just some patentable scientific data. I think this is a matter of national security."

"Canadian national security." Gardino clarified.

"Well, yes, of course." he stopped to clear his throat. "I'm sure that with the information that we've given them, the local police will be able to pick up Dr. Zhang and Mr. Breckinridge at the airport." Fraser concluded.

Ray closed his eyes and leaned back. Comfortable. And on his way to having the arm x-rayed and set and the good drugs and the nurses to flirt with. Damn it. Without opening his eyes, he said, "Louie, take us to the airport."

Fraser lit up. "You don't mind? Really Ray? Well, that would be-"

"Yeah, yeah, Benny. National security." Ray smirked tiredly, dismissing Fraser's heartfelt thanks.

Gardino jerked his head around, ready to argue in favor of the hospital, but Huey put his hand on his partner's shoulder and shook his head. This was between Vecchio and Fraser.

Before the Mountie, Huey had seen, they'd all seen, Vecchio sliding toward burn out. Vecchio couldn't keep a partner, no-one wanted to work with someone with an attitude that bad, a chip on his shoulder that big, and a solve rate that low. He didn't seem to be able to get it together enough to close a case. It was like he expected to fail, and he expected people to expect him to fail and he didn't know how to exceed all the expectations on him.

Huey knew what it was like digging yourself out from a neighborhood like that, a place where everyone grew up knowing which side of the law they'd be on. By all rights, he should be, and Vecchio, both of them, on the wrong side. But they weren't, and there but for the grace of God, or someone, went Huey. If doing stupid things for the Mountie helped Ray Vecchio drag himself out from wherever the hell he'd been going, that was fine with Huey. A cop needed a partner. A cop like Vecchio getting someone who'd hold him accountable to the spirit of the law with just one expectant glance, one hopeful sentence, well, that was more than he deserved, but it might be exactly what he needed.

The rest of the trip to the airport passed in strained near-silence. Ray's arm was throbbing, hot wet pain. It was easiest to keep his eyes closed, because every time he glanced up between his lashes he saw Benny looking at him with an expression torn between miserable guilt at Ray's state and bull-headed determination to get the bad guys. There wasn't anything Ray was prepared to say to try to make that better.

Gardino pulled up in the loading bay at the airport. It was very small and old fashioned looking, with only one terminal.

"Stay in the car, Ray." Fraser said. "We'll get them as quickly as we can and then have you on the way to the hospital."

Ray opened his eyes. Sure, he didn't much feel like moving, but on the other hand, Fraser was unarmed and a sheer magnet for trouble.

"I'm coming." Ray said.

Huey leaned over from where he was half way out the door of the car.

"I think Fraser's right, Vecchio. You don't look so hot. We've got it."

Ray reached over to unbuckle his seatbelt and groaned with pain. Well, maybe he was sitting this one out.

Huey, Gardino and Fraser headed into the airport. As early as it was in the morning, the terminal was open, but only one counter was staffed.

Gardino took in the fresh faced young woman behind the counter and strode over. He leaned on the counter casually and flashed his badge at her.

"Detective Gardino, Chicago PD. We have a couple of questions." Then he stopped, suddenly stymied. He wasn't actually sure what to ask.

Fraser leaned in and the woman behind the counter turned to him with a warmer smile than that with which she'd graced Gardino. Louis ran a hand through his hair. It must be hell being Vecchio; no-one was going to look at either of them twice with the Mountie looming there looking like a hunk of prime Canadian beefcake even short his belt and hat and somewhat battered from the evening's events.

"We're looking for a man and a woman that may have chartered a flight out of here this evening." Fraser said with sure confidence. Gardino shook his head ruefully and stepped back from the counter to leave him to it.

"I rather think that they may have been running late for their charter, and perhaps someone will remember-"

The woman smiled more broadly.

"Sir, we really don't have a lot of charters going out in the middle of the night." She pushed some keys on her keyboard. "Jack D'Anville was supposed to be flying a couple out to Boston tonight, but they hadn't arrived or called by the time he was supposed to take off. So he went home to bed. The couple arrived about forty-five minutes ago, and made a fuss until I called Jack at home. They're waiting for him in the gate area nearest to hangar fourteen. Gate seven. He's just doing the pre-flight now."

Fraser smiled warmly at the font of information. "And this would be a slim-built Chinese woman and a larger caucasian man?" he confirmed.

"Yes, that's right." the woman said.

"And can you contact this Mister D'Anville and ask him to stall on his pre-flight arrangements until the police have taken his passengers into custody?" Fraser asked.

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, my." she said. "Well, yes, certainly." She picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

Fraser started striding toward gate seven when he felt Huey's hand on his shoulder.

"Now hold on, Fraser." Huey said, "your suspects aren't going anywhere. Let's just go back to the car and make sure we have some backup on the way."

Fraser made a sound which Huey took for agreement, and Huey and Gardino turned back toward the car.

**Author's Note: Hah! Yes, Fraser is definitely listening to Huey and Louis and not running off on his own after the bad guys. Definitely. Well, we'll see in Chapter Six, eh? Thanks to everyone who is reading the story! I hope you're all enjoying the ride. Now that NaNoWriMo is over (yes, I completed my 50k words) I should be able to finish posting the last few chapters a bit more swiftly. Thank you so much to everyone who's left feedback. It means a lot to me!**


	6. SNAFU

**Disclaimer: If they're evil, they're mine. If they are startlingly good and hot, they're not.**

**Chapter 6 - SNAFU**

Ray's inestimable aid, or Diefenbaker's presence as backup would have been very welcome to Fraser. But in spite of Huey's confident words, Fraser didn't dare delay going after Zhang and Breckinridge. Zhang in particular seemed to be clever and quick, and he just couldn't take the chance that she'd be spooked by any hold up or excuses on the part of the pilot, or that their backup would arrive with sirens and tip her off. He wasn't prepared to take that chance.

"Pardon me, Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, if I could just-"

The blue-uniformed security agent manning the x-ray machines glanced in a bored and sleepy way at Fraser's identification and nodded. "Go right ahead."

Fraser strode through the metal detector and onward, following the signs pointing to gate seven. There was a small crowd of people waiting for a commercial flight at gate five, but Breckinridge and Zhang stood alone at gate seven. Fraser slowed his step, using the crowd for cover. Now that he had the two criminals in sight, it would be safe as well as prudent to wait for backup.

He was close enough to move on the two criminals if anything changed. It wouldn't pay to underestimate Doctor Zhang's ruthlessness, and if he moved on them now, people would be at risk. It would be careless to do anything but watch.

Huey realized that Fraser wasn't with them when he arrived back at the car. He swore. Gardino looked around and ran his hand through his hair, grimacing in frustration. Vecchio's new partner was just unaccountable. Vecchio had always been a loose canon, but the Mountie was more unpredictable. He'd talk everyone's ear off about rules and regulations and then act as if he'd never heard of standard police procedures if they got in the way of doing what he wanted. Gardino was more than happy to be partnered with someone stable like Jack Huey.

"Ray." Huey said. "Seems like your perps are in there. I'm going to radio and make sure that local bozo from the hotel has cars on the way. Uh, we told Fraser we were going to wait for backup, but he went in anyway. I guess he didn't listen."

Ray's eyes opened wide with anger, then drooped to a tired resignation.

"No, of course he didn't. Of course not. Not the man who went after a cop-killer, unarmed, and got a knife in the leg for it." Ray leaned over and opened the car door, sliding out with care not to jostle his arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" Gardino asked.

"What does it look like?" Ray shook his head. "Going after Benny."

Gardino put his hand out in front of Ray.

"No, you're not. Vecchio, you're half dead, and do you even have your gun?"

"Well-"

"We'll wait for backup." Gardino said. Vecchio could be a hot-head, but he wasn't going and getting himself killed on Gardino's watch.

Ray moved as if to push past Gardino, then slumped back. Gardino wasn't joking around, and Ray was worn out. The thing of it was that Benny was out there doing something stupid, though, so that backup better hurry, because Ray wasn't going to wait much longer, even if it meant going through Gardino.

Ray brooded on Benny's loner habits. Okay, sure, lots of people picked Ray for the quintessential one-man show around the twenty-seventh district, but that's because fundamentally, he really hadn't got along with the sorts of schmoes the brass expected him to work with. He respected the idea of the inviolate partnership, it just hadn't worked out for him. But Benny.

Benny. The man talked a good game about crossing all the 't's and dotting all the 'i's, but to the core he was a solitary hunter more than a policeman. If you scraped back past the inessentials, there was a man who taunted his father's killers and then waited alone to bring vengeance upon them. Vengeance, justice, whatever, he would have been alone if Ray hadn't showed up, at the ends of the earth. Ray shook his head tiredly. What the hell was it about Benny that made it so crucial to Ray to step in, break that habit, give the Mountie someone to lean on? It was a sense of loyalty, honor, something that called to a hungry part of Ray, a part even his father's cynicism and years in the Chicago PD hadn't beaten down entirely. If Benny got himself killed going off alone like this, Ray would never forgive him.

Not two minutes after arriving at the gate nearest to the miscreants he was tracking, Fraser saw the two confer briefly and then move to the exit of the terminal that lead to the runway where they would meet their plane. Fraser frowned. They were supposed to wait for the pilot to meet them, but perhaps they'd grown anxious because of the delaying tactics the pilot was undertaking.

Fraser waited until they'd slipped out of the door, noting that there should have been some sort of alarm to prevent anyone with sinister motives from accessing the planes unnoticed, and then followed. As he exited the building, he saw that Breckinridge and Zhang had split up. Breckinridge was closer, heading toward the ranks of hangars near the end of the runway. Fraser ran toward him. There was no point using stealth or subterfuge at this point, there was no cover for him to hide behind. He'd just secure Breckinridge to the nearest convenient object with his lanyard, then go after the obviously more dangerous Zhang.

Breckinridge was between the end of the terminal and the first of the hangars when Fraser's approach caught his ear and he turned to face Fraser.

"Henry Breckinridge, I'm placing you under citizen's arrest for the crimes of theft, kidnapping and assault." Fraser said, reaching out to grab Breckinridge's arm before the man had time to pull his gun out.

Breckinridge put up a struggle, grabbing Fraser's wrist and squeezing hard over the bandage on it. White pain flared up in Fraser's head, making his ears buzz. As he shook his head to regain control, he heard the whisper of soft footsteps behind him.

Breckinridge smiled triumphantly and Fraser felt the cold touch of Zhang's gun at the back of his neck. His shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch as he realized what was happening. He must be more tired than he'd thought, to make such a blunder. It was an ambush and he'd walked right into it. Fraser let go of Breckinridge and raised his hands slightly, his brow knit with chagrin at his less than brillaint strategic thinking.

"Good." Xiaoxu said, stepping around in front of Fraser, her gun still carefully aimed at him. Constable Fraser, or whatever your real name is, you've caused me too much trouble tonight. I cannot allow you to continue to follow us."

Fraser looked her square in the eye and waited for the shot.

Xiaoxu looked amused and shook her head. "No, after the mess you've made of this situation, you're coming home with me. You might buy me some favor in the eyes of my superiors."

So he'd been right, Fraser thought. This was no mere theft. Her superiors. Dr Zhang was an agent of a foreign government.

Breckinridge made a startled noise. "Surely you can't-" he said, "The Candians!"

Zhang looked more amused. "Oh, what are they going to do? If they make a fuss, it would mean admitting they have this young man acting as an operative on US soil, why, even within an American police department. They'll hardly risk a loss of face with the United States over one operative."

Fraser suppressed a shiver. Right again in assuming that Zhang thought _he_ was a member of the Canadian intelligence service. The fact that she was wrong would be of absolutely no comfort if he ended up in a Chinese prison camp. The thought was almost ludicruously implausible, but with a plane and a pilot it wasn't out of the question for Zhang and Breckinridge to spirit him out of the country. And if Zhang was a Chinese operative, she only needed to get him as far as Cuba. Cuba relied on trade with China. From there he'd be out of luck and out of chances to escape. It was a nightmarish scenario. Surely there would be a way out.

How could it happen? How had he ended up tangled up in international intrigue, just by attending a dinner party? And yet, Zhang's gun was solid, real, and pointed at him. The situation felt like a bizarre waking dream brought on by sleep deprivation. It didn't feel real, which it was, which it most definitely was as Zhang ordered him toward the hangar. Fraser paid attention to his breathing and heartrate as he walked, pushing his body back to a state of calm. It was no good to let the strangeness of the night overcome his years of training and discipline. That wasn't his way. That simply wasn't the Fraser way. He held his head up calmly, taking strength from the memory of the plain courage of his father, who even in the manner of his death had lived up to his code as a Mountie.

"The pilot will have been told not to take off, I presume?" Zhang said. It was barely a question. Fraser didn't feel like answering.

Breckinridge shoved at him. "Answer the question." He sounded nervous and tired.

"Yes." Fraser said shortly.

Zhang spoke again, once more sounding amused and hungry for something. "Constable, if you cooperate now, things may go better for you later. Otherwise..."

Otherwise. Half spoken threats of something that Fraser still could not credit. Ray would come. Someone would come. He should have waited for backup, but regardless, there was no way he was going quietly onto a plane bound for an unknown destination with Zhang and Breckinridge. Nor was he going to let Zhang get away with whatever data was on the MiniDisc that she had purloined. That was the first priority.

The pilot, a tubby man with an astonishing mustache, was standing by the plane when they entered the hangar. He turned toward them and started to make an ill-rehearsed sounding excuse as to why the plane wasn't ready for take off, but he paused mid sentence when he saw the gun in Zhang's hand.

"Get in the plane and get ready for take off." Zhang said.

The plane was a small commuter jet with room for eight passengers. Fraser estimated that it was just under the size that would require a second pilot by FAA rules. As soon as the pilot was aboard, Zhang pushed Fraser toward the door.

"And you." she said.

"What if I don't?" Fraser asked, modulating his voice to a calm curiosity that was far from how he felt.

"What do you think?" Zhang asked.

"No, you really can't -- they never said--" Breckinridge interrupted, sounding terrified. "I won't be involved with this. I can't."

"All right." Zhang said.

Fraser barely saw Zhang move before Breckinridge fell to the floor of the hangar, an ugly red slash where his throat had been. Zhang held the gun in one hand and - Fraser felt queasy - his knife, which she'd taken from him at the hotel room, in the other. Of course, the gun would have attracted airport security - who, in retrospect, Fraser should have turned to earlier. He hadn't been thinking, and now Breckinridge was dead- not bleeding out, his heart had stopped almost instantly- just dead on the floor. The pilot was swearing, muttering the same string of shocked filthy words over and over as he looked out of the plane.

Zhang holstered the gun and pressed the knife up under Fraser's ribcage at his back. "Go on." she said.

Fraser moved forward, climbing up the short flight of steps into the plane. In spite, or perhaps because of, her sadistic hunger, Zhang was a ruthless killer, and he found that he could not, in cold blood, stand there and let her do to him what she'd done to Breckinridge. He had to bet on finding a way to stop her or escape later. It should be easier - the odds were on his side now - except that it would be fatal to underestimate her in the slightest.

---

Ray waited long enough for Huey to pull his head out of the car and announce that backup was ten minutes away before losing patience with the situation.

"Fine, backup's coming, that's my partner on the line out there, are you gonna let me go, Louie, you asshole?" he snapped.

Gardino rolled his eyes and sighed. "Jesus. Drama queen."

Ray's fist snapped up, then he took a deep breath and shook it out. Fraser couldn't have got himself into too much trouble this quickly. It was just that he'd feel better if he had the Mountie in sight. Especially after Geiger. Let Fraser get the lead in the chase and the next thing Ray knew, he was lying bleeding on a rooftop with a knife buried in his thigh. So much for the all-Canadian superhero. And here Ray was standing around worrying when he should be there. Huey knew. Gardino knew, right? Partners.

It seemed they did know, because Huey radioed back that they were going into the terminal, and Gardino patted his holster and nodded.

Ray was soon wearing through the last thin strands of his patience dealing with an airport security guard who had no idea how he was supposed to handle cops with badges wanting to take guns into his gate area. Figured they'd got the new guy. Ray tapped his foot, glower becoming increasingly intense, as the new guy called his supervisor.

"Uh. Sorry. Just. Uh. Put them on the x-ray belt, and uh, well, there'll be a couple of guys along to escort you." The young man said. He'd confirmed that Fraser came through.

Suddenly things had escalated into a Situation. Huey and Gardino looked uncomfortable as the head of security joined their little conclave.

"Someone wanna tell me what's going on in my airport?"

He was tall, with a physique that was intimidating aside from a small pot belly, and he was leaning in menancingly toward the three police officers.

Huey spoke, making soothing gestures with his hands. "Listen, we didn't mean to withhold information, we're happy to have your co-operation. We have two persons of interest in the airport, and initially the plan was to wait for backup, at which point, I assure you, you and your team would have been fully briefed."

"You think I need to get the civilians out of here on account of your two big, bad, perps?" The security head asked.

"No, I think you need to get me to my partner." Ray said.

"Then, when we're done, you're going to explain how it is you waited this long before informing me of what was going on, right?"

Gardino sighed and shifted from foot to foot. "Listen, I know we messed up." he said. They really had. Welsh was going to rip them a new one. It was a bad night all round, starting with having to bring in the Mountie. All in all, they'd hardly been at the airport fifteen minutes, though it felt longer. But it was still a screw up. "It was a mistake in judgement. It's uh, it's been a long night."

"Yeah." Huey confirmed. "A very long night. So, can we get going?"

The head of security looked mildly appeased, but mostly he still looked like an angry bull with digestive problems.

"Fine. What gate did you say?"

"Seven." Huey said.

The security head and a younger, less beefy, security guard escorted them to gate seven. There was no-one to be seen there.

Ray rocked on the balls of his feet. "Where are you, Benny?"

---

Fraser looked around him as he stepped aboard the plane. The appearance of compliance was one thing, but he was going to press his advantage as soon as he could. The fire extinguisher would make a good weapon. He moved subtly toward it.

"Don't even think about it." Zhang said, pressing his knife into his back, the finely honed tip cutting through his tunic and undershirt to draw blood.

Schooling his gaze to a neutral appraisal of the seating arrangements, Fraser thought irrelevantly that his uniform really wasn't coming out of the night's fracas in good shape. It was only when he noticed his hands shaking that Fraser realized she'd cut deeper than he thought at first, shock protecting him from immediate awareness.

**Author's Note: I told you it would get worse. Hmm. Well, do you think I'd send Fraser to a Chinese Prison Camp? Write your answers on the back of an envelope... *evil grin*. Hope everyone is still enjoying the story and thanks for the encouragement to continue!**


	7. Benny, Don't Be A Hero

**Disclaimer - I'm really doing this as a part of a plan to take over the world and form a secret world government. I certainly don't make any money from it.**

**Chapter 7 - Benny, Don't Be a Hero**

The pain caught up with Fraser with the realization of the reality of how badly Zhang had sliced into his shoulder, a firm, deep cut over his shoulder blade. Fraser felt blood welling out of the cut, and a burning that spread across his back. It was a different sensation from Geiger's knife in his thigh, but enough to make him stumble and gasp involuntarily.

"Down on the floor, face down please." Zhang ordered tersely.

Fraser dropped to his knees. With the knife now further away from his vital organs, he twisted swiftly, moving gracefully toward Zhang to shove her off balance. But the dangerous woman was expecting this, a booted foot coming up to kick his shoulder and push him forward. Fraser bit down on his tongue, trying not to scream.

"And that's why I had to hurt you." Zhang said. "You're too heroic for your own good. I have the knife and a gun, and you're still trying to fight me. Just lie down and do as you're told for a while." She had her foot on his shoulder, and she pushed down as she stepped over him. The flare of blinding torment made Fraser shudder involuntarily, and he had only regathered his wits in time for Zhang to have seated herself in an aisle seat, her long, elegant leg stretched out so she could keep her foot on his shoulder.

Fraser felt simultaneously revolted by and grateful for Zhang Xiaoxu's sadistic games. She had cut him deeply enough that he was bleeding freely, and he knew that would weaken him soon. But she obviously wanted to watch him suffer, and that meant she really hadn't incapacitated him as fully as she could have. Sometime during the flight she'd lose interest in watching him, lose that razor sharp focus. Then he'd find a way to take advantage of her miscalculation. Just as soon as his head stopped swimming.

"Let's get going." Zhang said to the pilot. "Head out on the original flight plan, then we'll change co-ordinates."

"Uh." The pilot's voice was shaky, shakier even than Fraser felt. "I don't think they're just going to let me take off. I was supposed to stall."

"You want me to kill this man? Take off, or he dies." Zhang said.

Fraser didn't catch a response from the pilot, but he heard the engines of the plane start, and then felt the plane move, taxiing onto the runway. The radio crackled to life. "Tango November Five Five Six Seven Romeo, this is Ground Movement Control. You are not cleared to be on the runway."

"Ignore that!" Zhang said. "They'll keep the runway clear if they have any sense."

The pilot did as she ordered, the plane moving slowly but steadily away from the hangar.

Zhang leaned down over Fraser, reaching to pet his hair, stroking his head and the back of his neck.

"There," she said, a note of triumph and pleasure in her voice, "I knew you were capable of learning. If you continue to behave, things will not go so badly for you."

A ripple of unease and distaste ran through Fraser at her tone and her gentle touch. She was playing games with him. The contrast of the pressure of her foot bringing agony and the seductive stroking of her fingers set his teeth on edge.

Perhaps it was intended to cow him, to bend him to her strong will. It was to his advantage if she thought he was passively co-operating. But even if it hadn't been strategic, Fraser would never allow her to see how uncomfortable that intimate touch made him.

---

"Chief?"

The security head took his radio from his belt. "Go ahead."

"This is Ground Movement Control. Tango November Five Five Six Seven Romeo is taxiing onto runway C without clearance. And I can't raise the pilot on the radio. Do we got a situation?"

The security head straightened up, looking taller by a couple of inches, and grimly determined. "We have a situation, yeah. Keep trying to get through on the radio. And keep me update on what's going on."

He turned to Ray, Huey and Gardino. "Sounds like you're going to want a hostage team. I'll get a truck out on the runway. You co-ordinate your end."

Sirens sounded outside.

Huey patted a stunned looking Ray on the shoulder. "Well, at least that backup's here. Let's go."

"You go sort it out." Ray said shortly. "My partner's on that plane. I mean, he is, I know it."

"And what do you think you can do about it?" Gardino said. "C'mon, have some sense, Vecchio. You gotta let this one play out. It's out of our hands."

"No." Ray grated, and pushed past Gardino and Huey, headed out of the building to the runway area. His arm was throbbing like a demon, and he felt half dead on his feet, but did they think he was just going to take a back seat in whatever was going now? Just sit down and shut up? No way.

---

The radio kept chattering, Ground Movement Control trying to get through. Zhang's foot tapped an irritated rhythm on Fraser's shoulder. Fraser let himself drift away from the sound and the sensation, let the heavy beat of his heart turn into the sound of caribou thundering across the snowy tundra. He held on for the moment. He'd know it when it came.

"There's a truck moving across the runway." the pilot announced, his voice still unsteady. "I can't - we can't go-"

Zhang stood up suddenly, her foot still in place. The breath rushed out of Fraser's lungs, and he panted, his hands curled into fists.

"Fine. If they want to play it that way, we'll play."

She sat back down. "You understand, if you want to make it out of this alive, you will do exactly as I say." she said, addressing the pilot. "I want to be sure you understand that. If you want to live, you're on my team."

"Yes, yes, of course." the pilot babbled. "Whatever you say. Whatever you want." His tone of voice was conciliatory, practically sycophantic in his desire to stay on his captor's good side.

---

Ray stood on the edge of the runway, cracking his knuckles and staring at the plane. The plane that Fraser was in. Because he hadn't been in the hangar, that was for sure. No, not Fraser. Just - Breckinridge's body, and Huey and Gardino were dealing with that, let them. He wasn't even on duty, not really. Just doing a favor for a friend. A friend who was in deep shit now. The image of Breckinridge's throat, cut cleanly across like that, not so much blood, just cold death, kept flashing in front of his eyes. Jesus, this was supposed to be some crazy little Canadian crime. Something stupid, like one of those cozy detective mysteries they had on the A&E channel Ma liked. The Case of the Purloined Disc at the Dinner Party. But now it was a matter of national security, Benny said, and a guy with his throat slashed, and hostages on a plane. And Benny was one of them.

How had his night got so weird and bad?

A wet nose snuffled up against Ray's hand. He looked down.

"Diefenbaker. Oh, now you decide to show up."

Welsh's hand fell heavily on Ray's shoulder. "Not just the wolf, detective." He was not amused to have played chauffer service to a bossy, deaf half-wolf.

"First I get woken up by the news that one of my detectives got himself kidnapped while carting around a suspect in a theft case, which suspect, incidentally, is a foreign liaison with the department, then I get out here and find another suspect is dead, and there's some kind of terrorist incident going on with Constable Fraser right in the middle of it. Why am I not surprised? No need to answer. I am not happy that I am not surprised. Surprise me, Detective. Explain what's going on here."

Ray was saved from trying to explain by the arrival of more people on the scene - the local uniformed officers, and with them, two men in dark suits that screamed 'Fed' to Ray. They were in close consulation with the head of security, and appeared to be going somewhere with him. Ray figured they were probably going to take charge of things, which meant he probably should get in with them if he wanted to do something, anything, to get Benny out of this mess. He shook off Welsh with an impolitic, "not now, sir." and strode after them.

"Hey, hey!" he called.

The head of security stopped mid stride. "Problem?" he turned to ask Ray.

"Yes, I have a problem. My partner's on that plane, and I want to know what's going on. If the Feds are taking over, I want to talk to them. That's my problem."

One of the men in the dark suits turned around. "And you are?"

"Detective Vecchio, 27th-"

"Oh yes. Good. You should come with us then."

"Do I get to know who you are?"

"I'm Agent Nesmith, as you surmised, FBI. This is Corporal Dolenz, RCMP."

The security head chief started walking again, and Ray, Agent Nesmith and Corporal Dolenz followed him.

"You're here because of Ben- Constable Fraser being in the middle of it?" Ray asked Dolenz as they walked toward the control tower.

"Not really." Dolenz said. Which made the FBI agent more polite than the Mountie, which blew Ray's mind a little, so maybe the uniform was the source of all that excess politeness of Fraser's after all. After all, he hadn't known Fraser that long, just long enough to consider him a true partner, but not long enough to figure out if the freakish politeness was a genetic disability or what. God knows, maybe it would help him talk down the psychotic Chinese lady long enough to stay alive. Ray could only hope that was true.

"So if not for Fraser, then why?" Ray demanded as the head of security badged them into the control tower.

Dolenz gave Ray a long look, then turned his gaze to Nesmith. Nesmith answered for him.

"Detective, I'm sorry, but it's a matter of Canadian national security. In the spirit of international co-operation, we're working with various Canadian law enforcement agencies to resolve it. I wish I could give you more information, but of course every effort will be made, first and foremost, to ensure the safety of the hostages."

It was a long and conciliatory speech, but the Canadian's lack of concern about his compatriot didn't inspire Ray with trust. Suits were suits the world over. "First and foremost better be right. You know that's my partner in there."

"Unofficial partner." Dolenz said, helpfully.

Ray's brows lowered. His shoulders hunched down, but that made his arm hurt enough that he had to stop and catch his breath as the others climbed the stairs to the top of the tower. Ray entered the small, computer filled room to find a tense situation. Three radio operators were seated, one of them trying to raise a response from the plane that Fraser was in, that was currently confined to its small patch of runway by an airport firetruck parked in front of it.

"Tango November Five Five Six Seven Romeo, this is the control tower. Agent James Nesmith of the FBI would like to speak to Dr. Zhang."

The new voice came through clearly on the radio, and Zhang straightened up in her seat.

"Answer." she told the pilot. "Ask them what they want."

"This is Tango November Five Five Six Seven Romeo," the pilot said. "the, uh, lady, wants to know what you want."

It wasn't exactly proper radio protocol, but the situation seemed beyond that.

"This is Agent Nesmith. Can I speak to Dr. Zhang?"

Zhang said, "Find out what he wants." sharply.

"Uh. I guess not." the pilot said. "She said what do you want?"

"First, I want to know that you and the other hostage are okay. Are you injured?"

"No, I, uh, no." the pilot said.

"All right." Nesmith said. "I'd like to speak to the other hostage. Could you put Constable Fraser on?"

Fraser waited. The pilot didn't say anything. Fraser guessed he was probably looking to Zhang for an answer.

Zhang said "Hold down the mic button. We'll let the Agent know how the Constable is."

Zhang's voice had that tone of hungry excitement that Fraser was beginning to dislike. He was not surprised, in fact he was braced for it, when she lifted her foot and stamped down on his shoulder with a force that would have been bruising even without the deep, long gash from the knife. He let out a hiss of air through his teeth, and Zhang laughed melodically. Fraser heard a choked off noise from the pilot, and Zhang said, "keep the radio on." Her booted foot came down hard again, then again, and once more before he had time to clear his mind, and a sharp sound of distress came out of his mouth.

In the control tower, Ray turned pale.

Zhang strode over to the cockpit, apparently confident that she'd debilitated Fraser enough to be sure he wouldn't rush her the moment her foot was off his back.

"If you make demands, you've heard what will happen. Now tell me what you can do for me."

"I'm sure we can end this situation without further bloodshed." Nesmith said. "I would consider it a gesture of goodwill if you would release your civilian hostage."

Ray looked out the control tower window. A SWAT team was moving into place around the plane, sharpshooters staking out positions. He pushed his hands into his pockets and tried to concentrate on listening to Nesmith talking soothingly to Zhang.

"That still isn't what you can do for me." Zhang's voice came through the radio. "That's still what you're trying to get from me, Agent... Nesmith, was it? James?"

"Sure, you can call me James. May I call you Xiaoxu?" the agent said, pronouncing the Chinese first name with fluent ease. Ray knew that he was doing it to form a rapport with Zhang so she might be easier to coax out of the plane. But it disgusted him to hear them make like friends all of a sudden.

"Why not, James? We may be here a while. Now, tell me what you're going to do for me, in exchange for the lives of these two men."

**Author's Note: I am feeling the love, people! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. This story wraps up in the next action-filled chapter, so stay tuned!**


	8. No Surrender

**Disclaimer - If I owned them I'd end up in breach of contract for never meeting my writing deadlines, so it's probably good that I don't. On the other hand, who wouldn't want their own pet Mountie and Detective?**

**Chapter 8 - No Surrender  
**

Ray turned to stare at Nesmith, who was murmuring abstract platitudes.

"Not good enough." Zhang said. "I'll give you ten minutes to get a deal on the table."

The radio went silent.

Dolenz broke the silence first.

"You can't let that plane take off. That's what she'll want."

Ray said, "But Fraser-" before he could catch himself.

"Constable Fraser will do his duty to his country." Dolenz said.

Nesmith spread his hands out in front of him, smoothing down thin air.

"Currently, Dr. Zhang is in possession of data that neither of our Governments wishes to see in Chinese hands. That's all I can say about it, but Corporal Dolenz is correct. We can't let that plane take off."

"Oh, shit." Ray said. "Benny was right. I mean, he said, national security, but okay, seriously..." His mind was having trouble keeping up with his mouth. Long, strange night. He'd believed Fraser on a certain level when Fraser said there was more to the case than intellectual property, but this was just- well, being partners with Fraser had exposed him to levels of weirdness that he had hithertofore considered only occured in big books with gold block lettering on the front and pictures of heavily armed women in lingerie on the back.

Dolenz got up in Ray's face.

"What do you mean, Constable Fraser was aware this was a matter of national security? Did the constable see the contents of the minidisc at any time? Is there any possibility that he's involved with these people? He was arrested earlier this evening, was he not?"

Ray's face distorted into a heavy scowl, and it was only the light touch of Nesmith's hand on his shoulder that kept him from hauling off and slugging the plainclothes Mountie.

"Take it easy, Detective. Just tell us what your partner suspected, okay?" Nesmith said.

Ray thought back to the car. The problem was he'd been distracted by how much his arm hurt, and he'd been kind of getting sleepy in the warm comfort of the back seat, and he'd responded more to Fraser's obvious distress than what he'd actually said. He scratched his head with the arm that wasn't clutched to his chest tightly in an effort to minimize the throbbing.

"Well, he said the woman, Zhang, he, uh, thought she thought he was whatever your spooks are." Ray addressed this to Dolenz. "I don't know how he went from that to the next bit, but I guess he thought that if she thought-" he paused, aiming for clarity. Benny's life was on the line. "If she thought he was intelligence, that meant that she was expecting more than the local PD on the case, which meant that whatever they'd stolen was more important than we thought in the first place."

"That's all?" Dolenz demanded.

"That's all." Ray said. "Now, get my partner out of there."

"Like I said, Detective," Dolenz said, "The constable knows his duty. Apparently quite intimately in this case. He knew what he was doing when he pursued Zhang."

Nesmith interrupted. "I assure you, if the SWAT team has a chance to make a shot, or -"

"Or what, if dumb luck turns something up?" Ray snapped. "Great." He turned again to stare out the window as if he could will Zhang to stand in clear view of one of the sharp shooters out there.

Nesmith and Dolenz conferred, and Nesmith talked on his cell phone, and the ten minutes dragged by, grating on Ray's every nerve.

Fraser's arm was numb. His shoulder wasn't. On the contrary, his shoulder was on fire, urgent signals being sent to his central nervous system to say "Open wound here, someone want to do something about that, eh?" But other than that, Fraser was feeling optimistic. Because Zhang was no longer paying attention to him. That was the good news.

The bad news was that he would have to cover the space between them very quickly if he were to get the drop on her. And that meant making the numb arm and the screaming shoulder act in concert with the rest of his body. She'd said ten minutes, and he was keeping a count in his head. It would be best to wait until she was occupied with the radio once more. Then he'd do it, move, jump her. There was every chance she'd run his own knife into him, but on the other hand, it was the best chance to get the pilot free at a minimum, and with luck, apprehend Zhang.

Fraser felt a trickle of adrenaline like an icy finger up his spine as the time ticked down and Zhang spoke into the radio again.

'Well?" she said.

Fraser strained, waiting, knowing that the moment would come and that he'd move with it, as fluidly as he could. The agent who'd identified himself as James Nesmith was speaking again.

"Well, we can get a deal for you, if you co-operate with us, Xiaoxu. We'll need to hammer out the details, but we can get you back to China, or in protective custody if you'd prefer to stay here. But you know what I need, a gesture of good will. Let the pilot go."

Zhang laughed, the same warm laugh that had charmed Fraser over the dinner table.

"Oh, don't be absurd, James." she said, her voice a soft, dangerous purr. "You know he's my way out of here. I will be flying out of here, and you will be ordering the truck off the runway. You're offering me nothing."

"Not nothing." Nesmith said, but Zhang cut him off.

"You've made it clear you've got nothing for me. Now, here's my offer. I need the pilot, but the boy in the Mountie uniform is disposable. He's all out of fight, no fun at all. He has a lovely hunting knife, I already used it on him once. If you don't move the truck and let the pilot take off, I'm going to take that lovely sharp knife and eviscerate him, slowly."

There was a shocked silence, and then Zhang spoke again, her voice sounding harder and crueler.

"If that's too hard for you to understand, how about, 'I'll gut him like an animal.'"

Fraser could hear Ray yelling in the background as James Nesmith said "Don't do that!" and then he heard the pilot retch again, and Zhang make a small "Oof." sound as if the breath were knocked out of her. He recognized his moment and rolled, pushing up off the floor with the uninjured arm, easily, smoothly, steady on his feet as he turned to see the swooning pilot's chunky form pinning Zhang to the door of the plane. It was almost too good to be true. Even better, she'd dropped his knife.

Ray was out the door and down the steps of the control tower in a flash. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he couldn't stay there and listen and do nothing. Welsh intercepted him beside the commander of the SWAT team, grabbing him bodily by the arm that wasn't hanging broken and useless. Diefenbaker was crouched in a physical posture that strongly suggested to Ray the same sort of desperate desire to do something that he felt.

Ray looked around. Ideally, there'd be something, anything that he could use to his advantage. Benny was so good at that, pulling weird solutions out of thin air. There was a truck nearby with stairs mounted on it for boarding mid-sized planes. Ray fantasized for a moment about driving it into the plane, collision course, storming up the stairs, kicking in the plane's door - he sagged in Welsh's grip. The Mountie would manage something like that, but let's face it, Ray couldn't - not at the risk of screwing up and getting Benny hurt more. Was he really just going to stand by and wait? It seemed like the only option.

Zhang shoved the pilot off her to the floor as Fraser stepped toward her. He closed the gap between them, and she cowered back against the door of the plane. She suddenly looked much frailer, she was so petite compared to him, hunched as if she feared physical violence from him.

Fraser stopped less than a foot away from her. He brought up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I don't want to hurt you." he said. "I'm sure that Agent Nesmith will be happy to negotiate a fair deal for you."

Zhang's hands moved, and Fraser snapped his hand out to stop her from pulling out her gun. He held her right wrist in a firm grip. But it was her left hand that came toward him, and in it was a fine steel stiletto, a skinny, deadly blade that she must have concealed up her sleeve.

Fraser swung his other hand up clumsily, the shoulder not responding to direct orders. Zhang didn't look frightened any more, and he realized her cowering posture had been an act, like a wild cat rolling over and exposing its belly only to grab hold with all its claws and teeth at anyone unwary enough to reach for it.

She didn't have the hot, teasing look any more, either. She'd been playing with him in the hotel room, and here in the plane when she thought he was helpless. But now the games were over and he was defending himself against a cold-eyed killer. Gallantry was out of the question.

Zhang slashed at him with the fine blade, and Fraser blocked it with his arm, the sleeve of his tunic taking the brunt of the cut, though he felt it slice up the palm of his hand and winced.

Fraser twisted the wrist he did have a hold on, pulling Zhang's arm up behind her back, turning her away from him. She was fast, though, and stronger than her age or size suggested. She hooked around behind somehow with a foot, catching the back of his knee and pulling him off balance. It was awkward and lacked elegance, but since Fraser had to twist hard to avoid landing on his bleeding shoulder, it gave her a change to wriggle in his grasp and force him to really fight to keep the knife away from his throat. He used his size and rolled them over, bearing down with his body weight on the arm that held the knife. There was no finesse there either- just brute determination to hold her elbow down so she couldn't reach anything vital.

The pilot came around groggily and taking in the tangle of limbs on the floor of the plane, made an executive decision to get out. He opened the door and stumbled down the small set of built-in steps with his hands held high in the air.

The SWAT team outside got excited by the door of the plane opening, but when no one but the pilot emerged, the commander signaled them to move in closer slowly and cautiously.

Welsh tried to hold Ray back from creeping forward behind the team, but Diefenbaker took Ray's side and growled lightly at Welsh's efforts.

"Fine, have it your way." Welsh said, releasing Vecchio's arm. Vecchio wasn't great at following orders at the best of times and it had to be said that tonight was far from the best of times. Vecchio would hear about it in the morning - perhaps the morning of the next day - but with the luxury of time and Welsh's office door closed to give him the reaming out of a life time. As long as he stayed behind the SWAT team, otherwise he'd be handing over his badge.

Fraser caught the change of light from the door opening, and desperately rolled them toward it, trading off control over Zhang's arm with the knife against changing the odds in his favor. He kicked off against the wall of the plane, tumbling them out the door and in a loose roll down the short flight of steps. Somewhere in the tumble, a wild slash from Zhang caught his throat, but not with the force behind it to do more than split the skin. Then they were lying on the tarmac, with Zhang on top. Fraser got hold of the arm holding the knife and forced it stiffly out to the side, but Zhang countered by grabbing his other arm and bending it into an unnatural position. The pressure against his bleeding shoulder was unbearable and Fraser felt his grip faltering as his vision wavered.

Fraser was just beginning to succumb to the futility of his struggle when suddenly Zhang was wrested off him and slammed on to the ground. Fraser rolled to his side to see Ray slamming her wrist against the tarmac, forcing her to drop the knife, a string of curses in Italian falling from his lips, before a swarm of SWAT team members in black body armor descended on all of them.

The next thing Fraser felt was a lash of wet tongue against his face, and as he sat up, a face full of wolf fur. He was torn between scolding Diefenbaker to get off him, and reassuring the wolf.

"No, as you can see, I'm quite all right now, if you would be so kind as to let me get up."

Diefenbaker backed off reluctantly as two of the SWAT team helped Fraser to his feet. Beside him, Ray was getting his own assistance back to an upright state.

"Benny." Ray said, reaching out to touch Fraser's shoulder, pat his arm. "Jesus christ. You're bleeding."

Fraser pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the cut on his throat, then clumsily wrapped it around the deeper cut on his hand. Ray kept a hand on his arm.

"I guess you're going to the hospital with me." Ray said.

Fraser tilted his head to one side. "Oh, Ray, I'm sorry, I'd quite forgotten - you should have gone already." He turned unerringly to the ambulance parked on the edge of the runway behind the SWAT team's van.

"Why don't you go now? I'll be right along, there's still one or two things-"

Ray shook his head. Fraser was trembling under his hand, although the Mountie's mind hadn't caught up to the state of his body, apparently.

"Whatever it is will have to wait." Ray said. "You're _bleeding_. Don't be such a -"

Fraser's jaw was set and his eyes widened in the mule-stubborn look that Ray had seen before.

"Ray, as the late President Kennedy said, 'Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you-"

Diefenbaker interrupted him with a loud bark.

"That's really not polite. No, I know you prefer that speech, but I don't believe President Kennedy _intended_ to state that he was a fried pastry, it was merely a mistranslated German phrase."

Fraser had been distracted by his entirely improbable argument with the half-wolf. Ray took a breath and drew on his years of experience wrangling the public, and his mother's years of using guilt as a weapon. He let his shoulders sag with the genuine pain and exhaustion he felt.

"C'mon, if you're done invoking the spirit of Camelot, help me over to the ambulance."

"Oh. Of course, Ray. I'm sorry."

The two started to walk slowly toward the ambulance.

Dolenz and Nesmith appeared from the control tower, and Ray felt Fraser straighen up infintesimally when he saw the two men in suits approaching them. The men stopped for a moment as one of the SWAT team members handed Dolenz the fateful MiniDisc. Dolenz slid it into a pocket in his suit as casually as if it had been a packet of cigarettes, or a business card, not a piece of technology containing important scientific secrets to be guarded at all costs.

"Ah, Ray, if I might- a moment." Fraser cajoled.

Ray rolled his eyes. If Fraser could get whatever was bugging him out of his system with a few words with the Feds, so much the better.

"Okay, fine. A moment." He halted, leaning on Fraser as much as Fraser was inadvertantly leaning on him, and Dolenz and Nesmith stopped in front of them.

"Constable Fraser. I'm Corporal Dolenz."

"Sir!" Fraser snapped to attention, which only made Ray roll his eyes more.

"Good work tonight, Constable." Nesmith said. "Agent Nesmith, FBI."

"Thank you sir!" Fraser said. "But if I might, Corporal Dolenz, I'm afraid that we have not apprehended all of the miscreants involved in this case."

Ray shot him a disbelieving look. He wanted to chase someone else now? Not on Ray's watch.

"The situation is under control, Constable." Dolenz snapped.

Ray raised an eyebrow. "Well, wait now, why don't we hear what Constable Fraser has to say?" Dolenz made him feel contrary.

Ray's hand was still on Fraser's arm, and it felt like Fraser's unconscious trembling lessened, like he got a new burst of energy from Ray's terse support.

"It's just that-" Fraser's voice was light, barely audible, then he cleared his throat and started again in a firmer tone, "- well, everything this evening from the attempt to frame me onward suggests that there was never any _theft_ intended."

He was talking rapidly, arguing his case as if spilling out all the suspicions and circumstantial evidence could overcome the blank-faced stonewalling of Corporal Dolenz.

"This was a conspiracy to use the circumstances to pass whatever important secrets were on that minidisc from Dr. Gaffin to the hands of Dr. Zhang, or whatever the real name of the Chinese assailant is. The mere fact that another minidisc was used to frame me should have alerted me sooner - who would have one with them aside from Dr. Gaffin? But even then, it could have been sheer good fortune that the thieves were looking for the one minidisc and found a second to use. However, I surmise that-"

Dolenz held up a hand, unmoved. "I told you, the situation is under control."

"You saying you already got this Gaffin?" Ray asked, his brow wrinkling. He followed Fraser's logic. It had to be an inside job, which made the scientist a traitor - guilty of selling or giving away her country's secrets. No wonder Fraser was agitated.

"I'm really not interested in disclosing that information." Dolenz said.

Fraser's lips were pressed together in a thin line. He stood in distracted reverie for a long pause. "But if she is involved," he said, when he brought himself to speak again, "Then it is imperative that we move quickly to-"

Nesmith intervened. "Trust me, Constable, we can't flat out tell you what's going on, but your work is done. You shouldn't have been involved at all, but as best we can figure out, the opposition got spooked about what a Mountie was doing in Chicago and mistook you for CSIS, thus the clumsy frame-job to tie you up. Our intel said the disc wasn't supposed to be handed off at the party, it was just a meet and greet, or there really would have been someone from our side there. We just wanted to stay hands off until a certain party decided which way to jump. I'm sorry to say that decision wasn't what you'd like. But everything's taken care of. I promise you."

Fraser stared at the man, searching for clues -was he telling the truth? Could he be trusted? Then he relaxed slightly, his face slumping into bewildered disappointment.

"But why would she- why would a great scientist-?"

Nesmith frowned slightly. "Not that I'm confirming anything, but you know. Money, ideology. Complicated combinations of the two things."

"Okay, Benny, that was your moment." Ray said firmly. "Ambulance. Now. Before one or both of us falls over."

"Ray, I'm fine." Fraser protested.

He did feel fine. The throbbing in his shoulder was oddly familiar and warm now, a 'hello, amazingly still alive here' pain. And in fact, the sensation of floating was rather pleasant. But Ray should really speak up if he was going to stand so far away. Fraser opened his mouth to suggest that, then felt the ground spinning. It was only Dolenz grabbing one arm and Nesmith the other that saved him from a graceless face-plant onto the tarmac.

**Author's Note: Uh, oops. I made you wait nearly two weeks for the final chapter and all that time poor Ben was lying about bleeding. I promise _that_ wasn't calculated sadism. That was mere accidental evil. Ah, well. All's well that ends... uh... with Fraser passed out? There's an epilogue coming, with scads of pointless exposition and shamelessly schmoopy friend stuff between our two noble heroes. Then, if the muse is kind, a nice long twisty sequel. I get the feeling people would enjoy it if I spread my wings a bit and bust out past eight chapters and an epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading and letting me know what you think... it's particularly encouraging to have my evil villainess inspire so much loathing!  
**

**Happy holidays!  
**


	9. Epilogue

**Disclaimer - I don't own any Mounties, but I've seen a very nice knitting pattern to make my own.**

**Epilogue**

Fraser and Ray worked silently in the kitchen of Fraser's small, shabby apartment. Between them they had a working pair of hands, each bearing a sling that showed the damage done only days previously. Together, they moved in concert to feed Dief and make tea. The shared motion between them was the only thing that suggested harmony. The atmosphere was otherwise stiff with unspoken words.

Plenty would never be spoken. Fraser was busy with the unconscious effort of repressing how it felt when Xiaoxu played her manipulative touching games with him. Worse, and even more fervently pushed away, was the way his body betrayed him and longed for the memory of a loving touch. It felt like treachery the way something deep in him chimed that the feel of her fingers playing through his hair was like how his mother had soothed him. No way would he ever speak out loud anything to suggest Zhang's games had hurt him more than the knife in the back could have.

Ray bit his tongue about the way his partner just took it for granted that anyone _would_ roll out of a moving car for someone else's sake. When he held it up to the light the right way, Fraser's unquestioning faith that of course Ray had acted so foolhardily on his behalf was sort of a flattering assumption. But a hungry part of him would have welcomed a slightly more effusive show of thanks and praise, things his life had been all too empty of. And then, thanks to the Ma Vecchio instilled hair-trigger guilt, Ray felt guilty for being upset about it at all - after all, his arm had been easy to set, but Fraser had ended up in hospital overnight thanks to the blood loss he'd suffered while he waited to break free from Zhang.

That had been a nightmare. For Ray, already strung out from lack of sleep and that wild beat throbbing in his broken arm, the scene on the tarmac, lit by eerie early morning rays breaking over the horizon and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, had been taking on the unrealistic contours of a dream when Fraser went down. Ray recalled grabbing for him, but moving too slowly, and thank god the FBI guy and the asshole plainclothes Mountie had been there. They'd been able to lower Fraser more gently than his precipitous headlong plunge forward, lying him on his side and checking his airways were clear.

The paramedics had been all over the place what seemed like only seconds later, and Ray's arm meant he was dragged off away from Fraser into an ambulance while they stabilized Fraser before transporting him. After that, it was hours before he even got the chance to see Fraser again, between his x-rays and Fraser's admission to the hospital. It was all too close to the mess with Geiger and reminded Ray forcibly of Fraser's feet of clay.

Ray cleared his throat as Fraser poured him an unwanted cup of tea, awkwardly managing the pot with one hand. He searched around for a neutral topic. They'd been over everything a dozen times, but what else was there to talk about?

"So we'll probably never know what Gaffin put on that disc, huh?" Ray said.

Fraser poured himself a cup of tea and sat down, sighing almost inaudibly. He had resigned himself to not knowing what his Government was up to, but Ray seemed to pick this topic to come back to like a dog with a bone. And yet, it was easier than talking about than whatever else was bothering Ray, hiding behind those dangerous green eyes.

"I expect we shall never know. Doctor Gaffin's own work was unlikely to create that sort of international interest. But she may have had access to other data, especially if there was anyone else at her institution working with her."

It was the same non-answer he'd given Ray the first time he'd been asked. Really, he didn't know any more than Ray did. But he could speculate. Dr. Gaffin worked for a very prestigious University, one well known for research that was often put to military use, rather than the pure end of knowledge itself. Fraser had no doubt the disc had contained information that could give China an edge in weapons development. He was reasonably sure that a smart man like Ray could have drawn that conclusion, too.

There was silence. They drank their tea. Fraser wondered if Ray was going to bring up the similarity of Federal Agents regardless of nationality. He'd already heard all about Ray's dislike of Corporal Dolenz at least twelve times, if he counted the time that Ray thought he was unconscious at the hospital. Granted, Fraser's impression of Dolenz during his extensive debriefing had hardly been favorable either, but it was beginning to wear thin as a subject of intense discussion. Fraser stared at his tea cup. Maybe small talk wasn't a better choice than whatever was bothering Ray.

Ray put down his tea cup, having reached approximately the same decision.

"Ray-"

"Yeah." Ray said. "Just listen, all right."

"All right, Ray."

For all that he'd secured Fraser's silence, Ray didn't start talking immediately. His fine-boned hands fidgeted with the tea cup for a while and he looked at it intently. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, patient voice.

"Yesterday wasn't so much fun in Welsh's office." he said.

Fraser's closed-off, tired expression was shadowed by guilt.

"That was my fault." he said softly.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Ray said. "But you don't get to play the big martyr over it. Do you understand why it was your fault? Why Welsh unloaded on me like that?"

Fraser rubbed the back of his neck. He was about to venture an answer when Ray darted off in another direction in the conversation.

"So up there in the frozen wastelands of the North, you were pretty much a solo act, right?"

Fraser frowned, trying to follow the sudden change of topic.

"Well, yes, Ray. That would be an accurate summation. While I was once stationed briefly in a larger town-" he neglected to mention that the town had fewer than thirty thousand residents at the time he'd lived there - "for the most part the areas in which I served were not big enough to support a large RCMP presence."

"Got that idea the way you've been, aw, hell, Benny, since you came down here on the scent of your Dad's killers."

Ray's eyes were piercing and direct. "You look like... you make nice with everyone with the whole polite thing-" he held up his hand as Fraser opened his mouth to protest about this characterization of his behavior - "I said listen. You do, though, you seem like you're going to be cooperative guy. But you're used to doing it your way, doing what it takes to get the job done. Not- I'm not saying you're dirty, Jesus, Benny, anything but. Just - like maybe there never was anyone you could count on so you play nice then you go do your own thing anyway."

Fraser made a small sound that was neither agreement or disagreement.

"Some of what Welsh bawled me out for, that was my responsibility. Going off half-cocked after you got out of the plane. General, you know, insubordination." Ray's voice changed to a soft, quiet tone that Fraser was beginning to understand was the most deadly of his modes of conversation. "But you were there, you heard, some of it was for letting you run around like some kind of cowboy. You could have got yourself killed. You knew that woman was armed and dangerous. But you couldn't trust me, couldn't trust that you'd have backup in time."

Ray paused to swallow down the last of his tea. "Welsh gave _me_ hell for that because, official or not, you're my partner. Partners... partners take care of each other. They don't - shit, Benny, she could have killed you, and I was right there."

Fraser closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the things he'd read in his father's journal about Buck Frobisher, about friendship and the responsibilities it entailed. 'A friend is someone who won't stop until he finds you and brings you home.' Ray. His friend who had a broken arm and some spectacular bruises to show for his latest efforts at helping Fraser. And the other way around, Fraser could see that he had missed his responsibility to Ray in the whirl of pursuit, the hunt for justice, chasing Breckinridge and Zhang. He'd not stopped to think - he'd never had to before - about how the risk to him affected Ray.

"How do you think I'd feel if you'd got yourself killed going after that stupid disc?" Ray asked, and the question was reiterated by the darkness in his eyes and the tension pouring from him, his hands resting palm down on the table as if he willed them not to speak for him.

While Fraser was formulating a response, Ray said, "Just think about it." and stood up. Really, that was about all the big emotional scene he could deal with.

"C'mon." he said. "Let's go sign your hat out of the evidence lock-up."

Fraser stood too, relieved to have been spared having to answer. "Ah, yes, thank you Ray. That would be most welcome. As you recall, that was my spare hat." The shambolic state of his uniform after the night of the theft had been driving him quietly crazy. It was bad enough to write off a dress tunic, which, frankly, had been consigned to the dustbin right in the Emergency Room, but appearing at the debriefing and in Welsh's office for the epic dressing-down hatless and in his less formal uniform tunic had been an additional source of distress.

"You keep the one that got shot? Kinda ventilated, I guess." Ray said, an easy grin on his face as he pulled his coat on. As quick as he could be to anger, his mood could just as easily swing around to a broad good humor. Benny was, after all, alive and safe in spite of everything. He'd never imagined having a partner who mattered this much to him.

"It was not a souvenir of which I was particularly proud." Fraser said. He accepted the grace of Ray's dismissal of the difficult subject at hand and smiled. A friend was someone who'd brave the guardians of the evidence lock-up and not stop until you had your hat back.

As they walked down the stairs, Ray commented cheerfully, "Well, at least they'll probably throw the book at the Zhang woman. I guess that's the last we've seen of _her_!"

Fraser shuddered minutely. "I hope so, Ray. I hope so."

---

Meanwhile, in a back room in Langley, Virginia, deals were being made.

**  
Author's Note: Another one bites the dust... I must say, this may have been the most fun I've had writing a villain. Thank you all _so_ much for reading and reviewing. Your support and encouragement really rewards the effort that goes in to writing these stories. I'm going to go breathe for a few minutes and finish up my current knitting project, then I think the magnificently evil Xiaoxu will ride again. (Of course... at about a month to draft a story, you may not want to hold your breath.) Happy holidays to all and a happy New Year! I hope 2009 brings us all lots of fantastic Hot Mountie Stories!**


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